Routines
by lifeinahole
Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma. (Captain Swan AU, rated T for now, but that will eventually change.)
1. Prologue: Establishing Routines

Title: Establishing Routines (Prologue)

Rating: G

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

Prologue: Just setting the stage.

A/N: I was going to wait. Really, I was. I have so much to do, still, that I shouldn't even be thinking about this story until my thesis is approved by the grad studies department, but I'm still riding off the high of defending it on Wednesday, and this fic has been burning a hole in me. Prologue today, Chapter 1 tomorrow. I'm afraid this bit is a little boring. Apologies!

* * *

PROLOGUE: Establishing Routines

She's all about routines. This one is no different than the others. It's something that happens every day, like the way she washes her dishes and sets up her coffee maker for the next morning. A month ago, after a week of this event, it became just another slice of what makes her day, well, complete.

Every morning Emma Swan wakes up and prepares for her day. She walks out the door, and begins making her way to her office. Her heels are tucked inside the satchel thrown over her shoulder, a pair of beat up Converse contrasting with the business-casual outfits she wears to work.

Residential streets slowly turn to something more bustling and Emma heads down the path she's grown used to since starting her job four months ago. She approaches what can barely be called a city from the south and stands at the corner. She peeks to the right, waiting for her favorite routine.

As she waits for the crosswalk sign, she sees him walk up. He's on the opposite side waiting for the same thing. The green man shows up, they both still check both ways, and they both cross at the same speed. On the other side of the street, in front of the library, she turns right and he turns left. They pass each other, nod and smile in silent greeting, and both go their separate ways.

Monday through Friday, Emma passes the stranger. They never speak. The nod and smile is all they ever give each other, and they apparently both decide it's enough. She never peeks back to see where he's heading. She's also secretly afraid she will catch him doing the same, or maybe he won't be looking, and she's not ready for that kind of rejection.

As that thought passes through her mind, Emma snorts and picks up her pace. She knows if she makes it to the building her office is housed in within the next five minutes, there will be an empty elevator with her name on it.

She prefers when they're empty over being plastered to the side or, worse, against the back of the cramped space with the handrail pressing into her back. It doesn't help that there's a gym on the top floor of the building, and some patrons think that because they are going to get sweaty that they shouldn't bother to shower in the first place. And while the smell lingers even when the gym goers aren't there, at least it'll be less of an issue if she can get the elevator to herself.

* * *

The next day, Emma discovers how easy it is to throw off the delicate balance of a routine as strong as hers. The alarm never goes off, or if it does, Emma either doesn't hear it or turns it off in her sleep. She wakes, instead, to the sound of Ruby pounding on her bedroom door and alerting her to the fact that she normally leaves in fifteen minutes.

As soon as her eyes are open, she sets herself in motion in an attempt to get out the door on time. It's a challenge, especially when she turns on the shower and discovers that their hot water is out for some reason, and in her hurry to get through her morning rituals, she gets shampoo in her eye. After a stack of disasters, Emma gets out the door ten minutes late and she practically sprints down the street. She's going to get stuck in an elevator full of sweaty assholes. She's going to get yelled at for being late. She's going to miss seeing _him_. It's that last thought that pushes her a little faster down the street.

When she gets to their corner, she's confused to see him on the other side of the street, anxiously pacing back and forth and checking his watch. She stops short a few feet from the crosswalk and stares at him, and she's sure her jaw is on the ground at this point. He couldn't be waiting for her. _He's probably just running late and waiting for the signal_, she thinks. Because the other option is just absurd. He looks up then and makes eye contact with her and stops mid-pace. She's sure she's imagining how his entire demeanor calms instantly at the sight of her. The signal changes, and they cross as they normally would.

She turns right, he turns left, and they smile and nod. She looks a little longer than necessary at his blue eyes and then is tempted to run the rest of the way to her office. She makes it three steps past her stranger before she hears him clear his throat behind her.

"Excuse me, miss?" The hesitant voice makes her turn around to see him standing right where she passed him. "Um, I'm Killian. Killian Jones." He holds his hand out, not moving from his spot. As if he isn't attractive enough already, he has an accent that she would consider swoon-worthy, if she was the type to swoon.

She takes a cautious step towards him, reaching out her hand to shake his. Normally, men shake her hand like they're handling something delicate and fragile, but he takes hers firmly, shaking it like he means to make a deal, and she tries to keep her appreciation for the gesture off her face.

"I'm—" She's interrupted by her phone ringing in her other hand and she glances down to see her boss's name popping up on the screen. "Incredibly late. I'm so sorry." She drops his hand and starts backing away, intent on running the final block she has to go before his voice stops her again.

"Is there another name I can call you by, Incredibly Late?" His smile is so brilliant at his own joke that she finds her lips tilting up a little in response.

"Emma Swan," she calls out before she finally turns and starts running.

"See you tomorrow, Miss Swan!" she hears from behind her as she turns the corner.


	2. Chapter 1: Routine Meetings

Title: Routine Meetings (Chapter 1)

Rating: T for language.

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

Chapter 1: Emma and Killian get more comfortable in their morning routines, and see each other outside their commutes to work for the first time.

A/N: So I don't know if Emma's job actually exists. But if it did, I would happily spend my time transferring handwritten surveys into a computer program to compile the data. Because I'm a nerd like that. This chapter has a little more meat on its bones. Enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER 1: Routine Meetings

Emma's amazed at how quickly her day turns around after officially meeting Killian Jones. Her boss isn't even mad when she shows up late, just happy that she's finally sitting in front of her computer working on an endless stream of data entry.

She finds her thoughts drifting to the man she only knows the name of several times throughout the day, and she wonders how this is going to change her daily routine. It took them a month to even speak to each other. She wonders how much this little thing means to him, too, if he looked so out of sorts when she was late today.

Running a hand over her face, Emma looks back at the survey she's supposed to be typing up. The handwriting looks more like a toddler tried to fill it out, and she decides it's time for coffee. She pushes away from her desk and peeks over the top of the low cubicle wall to see her friend and coworker, Belle, still hard at work.

"Coffee run. You want to come with, or should I just bring back the usual?" Emma asks, knowing that talking to Belle won't interrupt her efficient typing.

"Give me just a second," she responds, fingers never stopping their smooth movements. With an enthusiastic flick of her wrist, Belle finishes the last question on the survey and saves her progress. Her pile is significantly lower than Emma's, even this early in the day. She grabs her purse out of a drawer in her desk and steps out of the small cubicle she's decorated with famous quotes from her favorite authors.

Emma never got around to really decorating her bleak work area. She has a picture of herself with Belle and Ruby in a frame next to her computer. Next to that is a picture from college graduation with her parents standing on either side of her. David and Mary Margaret are beaming with pride while Emma looks like she's about to bolt from the courtyard they had all gathered in after the ceremony. Other than those two personal items, the short walls remain blank.

"So, why were you late today?" Belle asks when they reach the elevators.

"Alarm malfunctions," Emma responds, as if there could be something besides human error to blame. Belle just nods as they wait for the next elevator car heading up.

While the gym on the top floor is a regular pain in the ass, Emma would never complain about the coffee place that sits one floor below it. It's especially handy on days like this when she can further her favor with her superior by bringing Regina coffee. The first two months, the woman barely even looked at her, thinking she was just another turnover statistic. But Emma was desperate when Belle convinced her to apply for the job, and she would be damned if she gave up on it before she'd put in a full year. When Regina realized that, their relationship was a little easier. Still, better to be safe than sorry, and coffee would ensure that any hard feelings about her tardiness this morning would be completely forgotten.

Belle keeps up a steady stream of conversation as they make their way for their coffee fix. It's still a little too early for Emma to contribute much to the conversation, but Belle has known her since they were freshmen in college and knows this about her friend. Ruby is the same way as Emma, but Belle has always definitely been a morning person. She's patient enough to wait until her friends can string together a full sentence and has no problem filling in the spaces of silence with whatever she can think of.

Back in college, those topics were usually limited to dorm gossip, homework, and upcoming exams. Now, the dorm gossip has changed to the office variety. She's talking about some kind of survey results they'll be getting for their next batch of work when the coffee finally starts to hit Emma's system, and she battles whether or not she wants to tell Belle about her morning encounter.

Both her friends have her best interests at heart, but she's afraid they will get too excited about her finding out the name of the extremely attractive man she's used to seeing every morning. Hell, they don't even know about him at all, because then they'll start asking about dates, when the wedding day will be, how many kids they'll be having. In the middle of her thoughts, she grimaces, and realizes Belle is staring at her.

"Have you heard anything I've said in the last three minutes?" Belle asks with amusement. Instead of answering, Emma just blushes and stabs at the button on the elevator to take them back down to their floor. "I asked if you were coming out with us on Friday," Belle repeats.

"Maybe. You guys know how much I like to wear sweatpants and eat ice cream on Fridays."

"At least you're honest," Belle says as she heads back to her cubicle to work while Emma goes off to deliver the extra coffee.

When she gets to Regina's office, the door is open. She taps the doorframe with a finger to get Regina's attention, not wanting to interrupt the phone call the other is having. By the set of her jaw and the furrow between her eyebrows, Emma's not sure she wants to stick around long for fear that some unknown wrath will be unleashed on her. She steps in when Regina waves her in and mouths "Thank you" to Emma before paying attention to the call again. Emma is almost out the door when Regina wraps up the call and hangs up.

"Swan, a moment please," she calls out. Emma backtracks and sits in one of the plush chairs across from the other woman. "We're getting in a new batch of survey information from that small publishing house. Happy Endings or Happily Ever After—"

"You mean Neverendings?"

"That's the one," Regina says. She takes a long drag at the coffee Emma brought her and sighs when she brings the cup away from her lips. "Anyway, I'm going to have you working with them. They're trying a redesign on their website and they need someone with graphic design experience to translate the customers' requests. I seem to recall you had a fair amount of experience with that?" Regina raises an eyebrow at her, referring to the portions of her resume that most people ignored.

"Uh, yeah. Actually, that was my original job choice, but no one was hiring." She tries her best to hide her excitement at finally getting to use her knowledge, then remembers that her cubicle is still buried under a mountain of paperwork. "But I'm still working on the surveys from the college orientation."

"Finish out the week with those. Whatever you have left over can get switched over to Belle. She'll join you on this assignment after she's finished. I figure her library science degree will come in handy with anything that deals with books."

"I'll let her know," Emma responds, and rises from the chair to head back to work.

* * *

The next morning, Emma is back to her impeccable schedule, so she is calm and collected when she strolls up to her side of the crosswalk. Only minutes later, Killian walks up to his, eyes trained on his phone, earbuds playing music that he nods his head in time to. She takes the moment before he notices her to appreciate the view a little, to take in the dark gray slacks he's wearing, and the white shirt and matching gray waistcoat. The sleeves on the shirt are rolled up and she's distracted for a solid minute by his forearms. The entire look is completed with an emerald green tie, tucked into the waistcoat but gleaming in the morning sun.

He looks up, then, and smiles at Emma while he curls his fingers in a wave to her. She hesitantly waves back, small smile finding its way to her lips. She just can't help herself when he's looking at her like that. The okay to cross comes on and they walk across their respective sides. They turn toward each other and Killian smiles a little brighter, nodding at her as they approach.

"Good morning, Miss Swan," he says as he gets closer.

"Morning, Jones," she responds, dipping her head in a nod to him as they cross paths. She turns her head after they've passed to see him smiling over his shoulder as they both keep walking. She can feel the smile on her face getting wider, so she turns to look at where she's going instead of risking the possibility of running into something while he watches.

* * *

It becomes a new routine for them. For the rest of the week, they get to their spots and wave. They cross the street and pass each other with a smile, a nod, and a simple good morning. Her heart nearly stops beating on Friday when he greets her as 'Emma' instead of 'Miss Swan' and she can't figure out why it means so much to her. She stutters out her greeting, still referring to him as 'Jones', and waits until she's safely around the corner before the grin splits her face. She rubs at her cheeks, trying to wipe the expression off before walking into the building. She does _not_ need any questions about why she looks so damn happy.

Belle is already at her cubicle when she walks in, holding out a cup of coffee for her. At Emma's questioning look, Belle points to the last of the college surveys sitting on her desk.

"C'mon. Between us we can have that hammered out today. That way, we can both start the publishing account at the same time," Belle says. It sounds so easy coming from her like that, but she has been dealing with the thing these college kids call handwriting for two weeks now, and she wonders how some of them got this far in life.

Sucking in a deep breath, Emma takes the coffee from Belle and stashes her satchel in her desk.

"Let's do this," she says, before dropping into her chair and pulling the stack closer to her computer.

By the end of the day, Emma's eyes are burning and she's wishing she didn't wear her contacts to work. She rubs around her eyes, careful not to dislodge either lens and stretches her hands above her head to stretch. Just as she hears the angry pops from her spine, she also hears Belle's victorious sound from the other side of the separator.

"Done?" she hears the brunette call to her.

"Fucking done," Emma responds. A moment later, Belle's head appears over the partition, smile wide on her face.

"I think that means we get to celebrate tonight. You're coming out with us," she says, leaving no room for argument. "Now come on. I think we've earned an early Friday, since we skipped lunch."

At the mention of food, Emma's stomach growls loudly and she happily logs off her computer. With their work for the week finished and a new project starting on Monday, Regina should have no problem with them leaving an hour early. Still, she stops in at Regina's office before they leave. She's on the phone again, but when she sees Emma, she waves her away and gives her a thumbs up. Her work done, Emma gladly joins Belle at the elevators to await their ride to freedom.

* * *

Emma and Ruby walk to the bar down the street later that night. Really, Emma is allowing herself to be dragged, her arm linked with Ruby's. She still wants to be on the couch, ice cream in hand, watching whatever trashy movie they find on Netflix. She's still in the outfit she wore to work, only swapping out the low heels she wears for a pair of flats, and her glasses are perched on her nose. She pulled the contacts as soon as she walked in the door and there was no way they were going back in, especially when there is alcohol in her very near future.

Tonight, the occasion is not just to celebrate the end of the work week. It's also Belle's boyfriend's birthday. Emma and Will have a tentative relationship built off their mutual love of Belle, and the burning passion to annoy the shit out of each other. As long as they aren't killing each other, Belle is more than happy to let them do their thing.

Emma and Ruby are greeted with various levels of enthusiasm and drunkenness. They're not even late, but it seems as if some of their group has already taken to shots like fish to water. Emma is intent on joining them in this endeavor, so she slips to the bar. She attempts to flag down the bartender several times and takes a moment to take a deep breath when the woman just walks right by her money, yet again. She's a half second from throwing a tantrum, but also because someone has just jostled their elbow into her side and she is _no longer amused_.

"Alright then, Swan, what it'll be? My treat," a voice says off to her right. It's not a voice she's expecting, so Emma spins and damn near crashes into Killian in her surprise.

"You?" she asks, eyes wide and she wants to just wire her jaw shut because she should not be this flustered around the man.

"Aye, me. It seems we have mutual connections, love," he says as he motions for the bartender. Of course, he's able to get her attention without even trying, whereas Emma was invisible to her. "Well?" he asks again.

"Gin and tonic," she says. She catches the put-off look the bartender gives her. Killian has barely even glanced her way, even when ordering his beer.

"Like the spectacles," he comments as he taps one of the black frames. Emma's still having trouble wrapping her mind around her stranger, who isn't much a stranger anymore, being here and buying her a drink. She backs up the conversation a step.

"Wait, mutual connections?" she thanks the bartender, who promptly turns up her nose at Emma and takes Killian's money.

"Wow, she does not like you, Swan. What did you do to her?" Killian grabs his beer and her drink off the bar and starts walking back towards the table where her friends are trying to out-drunk each other.

"Ha ha," she responds dryly. When they reach the table, Killian heads for a chair next to Will. The only other chair left is the one next to him, so she slides into it, entirely too close at the overcrowded table.

"Oi, Jones, what are you doing talking to the bloody likes of her," Will says, gesturing to Emma. She's too frazzled for a comeback, plus she's noticed Belle and Ruby with their heads bent together, and she can _feel_ their scheming already.

"Shut it, mate. I'm talking to someone much prettier than you. No need to be jealous," Killian responds easily, turning his attention back to Emma and winking at her. The wink does things to her stomach that no one has managed in years.

"Knowing Will Scarlet has just knocked you down several pegs in my book," Emma says, fighting to not smile when she says it. "But you did just call me pretty, so I'll let it slide. Just this once."

"You are a gracious woman, Swan," he says. He doesn't wink again, but she can _hear_ it in his voice.

She discovers over the next hour and several drinks that Killian works with Will at Neverendings, which explains why Belle was already talking about the new surveys they would be getting in. Emma forgot that she knew the name of the small press because he works there. Of course, most things dealing with him she tends to filter out of her brain as quickly as they enter.

Just about the time the bar is closing and most of her friends have wandered out into the night, Emma and Killian start walking. They find themselves talking about what they do in the city, where they grew up, who they know. It isn't until they stop that she realizes that they've walked to their corner, which means she's accidentally gone almost a mile out of her way. At the look on her face, Killian raises an eyebrow.

"What is it, love?" He looks genuinely concerned, and she laughs.

"I live a street over from the bar. I didn't realize how far we'd walked," she says, gesturing back the way they came.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" he asks, reaching back to scratch at a spot behind his ear. She's not drunk, but she has the craziest urge to do something like kiss the guy, and that is not okay.

"That would be out of your way, then." He looks as if he's about to protest, probably along the lines of being a gentleman and not letting women walk by themselves this late at night, but she holds up her hand to stop him. "It's okay, Jones. Believe me when I say I know how to take care of myself. And if I can't, that's what the pepper spray in my purse is for." She gives him a cheeky grin in reassurance, and he seems to accept it.

"Well, then, Miss Swan. I bid you goodnight." She's not sure when they shifted to stand so close, so it's a surprise when his fingers run over the back of her hand. He looks like he thinks out his next move for a moment, then bends to kiss her cheek before pulling back. "It was lovely to meet you," he says as he walks backwards a few steps.

"Likewise," Emma manages to say, and she's proud that it's not the strange squeaky voice she usually gets when she's thrown off-guard. He glances down the deserted street once before starting to cross, heading east towards the direction he always comes from. When he gets to the other side, he pauses once more to waggle his fingers at her one last time.

"I'll see you Monday," she calls out as an afterthought, and Killian smiles and winks at her again before turning in the direction of home. She turns south and starts the walk back to her apartment, rubbing the spot where his lips touched her cheek. She misses when Killian turns one last time to watch her go, absently running his fingers over his lips.


	3. Chapter 2: Routine Cleaning

Title: Routine Cleaning

Rated: T for any language I may have forgotten was in here.

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: I have pretty terrible insomnia, so instead of sleeping last night, I worked on another chapter. I finished it, which means this is getting posted a day earlier than I anticipated. A new school week starts tomorrow, so I'll do my best to post the next chapter somewhere in the week, but I ask for patience as the last few weeks of the semester wrap up. The feedback from this has been pushing me to write a little faster than I normally would, so I thank you all for being my biggest inspiration.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: Routine Cleaning

Killian doesn't care about routines. He does most things at the same time each day, but that is only because he wakes up and takes a shower, drinks his coffee, gets ready, and goes to work. At the same time. Every day. On the weekends, he's a mess. He's not entirely ashamed to admit that there are some weekends when he doesn't even bother showering. He's a guy, and he lives alone, so no one has to deal with his filth but himself.

It was by chance that, a little over a month ago, he decided to walk to work early and saw Emma for the first time. He's been walking the same route to work for three years now, but he has never seen her, probably because he's usually getting to work just before he's due to be there. His boss, Robin, is eternally grateful for Emma Swan without knowing she's the reason that his junior editor comes to work a half hour early every morning.

The first time he saw her, she was wearing some kind of flowy gray skirt, a light blue sweater, and scuffed Chucks. Her hair was tucked into some neat design around her head, but the moment the sun hit that golden blonde hair, he was hers. The next day, he left at the same time and saw her again, and suddenly, Killian was okay with the idea of routines.

He ponders this over a late breakfast the Saturday morning following Will's birthday. It's because of Emma's presence that Killian didn't drink far too much, why he's not nursing a hangover with greasy food and a pot of coffee. Instead, he settles on the couch with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and stares at the pile of books he's been trying to find time to read.

He's still buzzing from getting to talk to her, and more than just telling each other their names earlier in the week. Had he known Will's cute little librarian girlfriend was friends with the one thing he desires more than reading, he would've been going out with them every Friday instead of holing up at his place and catching up on his DVR.

The kiss on the cheek was completely unplanned. He barely gave himself time to think of what he was doing before he acted on the impulse, but he thinks of the way she reached back up to the spot when she thought he wasn't looking and he brushes his fingers over his lips again. If that's how soft her cheek is, he is seriously in trouble if he gets a chance to kiss those lips.

Pushing the thought aside (he knows it will only lead to more dangerous thoughts) he finishes his cereal and eyes the book pile again. Unfortunately, he realizes there are things to finish before he can allow himself to sit and read. Walking back into his disaster area of a kitchen, he accepts his fate and starts with the overflowing sink.

* * *

On Monday, Killian follows his own version of his morning routine and gets to the corner just as Emma is reaching the other side. He tries to keep the stupid grin off his face when he waves to her, because the last thing he wants to do is scare her off.

She's wearing her hair down, still obviously drying from a shower, and he finds he has to remind himself to breathe. He wants to cross over to her, but that's not what they do, so he stays put and waits for the crosswalk signal. When it lights up, he and Emma cross from their corners and he finds himself standing facing her for once, instead of just passing her.

"Good morning, Emma," he says with a hint of the grin he feels trying to break through. He enjoys the way her cheeks tint when he says her name, something he discovered Friday morning, and he wouldn't mind seeing that all the time.

"Morning, Jones," she offers back. She never calls him by his first name, and it should bother him, but he likes the way his last name sounds coming from her so much that he can't care. "I hear we may be working together for the next couple weeks."

"Aye," he responds, remembering that the survey crew Emma works for will be working on the feedback Neverendings is getting in on their redesign. "Of course, you'll probably see Will more than you see me. He's on the graphic design team. I'm more on the publishing side."

"That's right. I remember you telling me that," she says. He tries to ignore how she deflates a little at that. He's not entirely ready to give himself the hope that she's feeling the way he does.

"Disappointed, love? I know how difficult it will be to look at Will's face, instead of my own devilishly handsome one."

She snorts, checking her watch and starting to move past him.

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," she says.

"Until tomorrow, then," he says, turning to watch her edge past. She looks at him one last time and smiles.

"Tomorrow," she says, and it sounds like a promise.

* * *

He's surprised, later that day, to hear her voice around the corner from his office. He's been trying to make it through a novella, the first publication that Robin has entrusted to him and only him, but the sound of her laugh catches him off guard and he itches to go see the way her eyes light up when she makes that sound.

But he's so bloody close to being finished and Robin will have his head if he doesn't have something to report by the end of the day, so he glares at the computer screen harder, willing his self-control back into place. Of course, it doesn't stop her from finding him, and he looks up when he feels her watching him work.

"Careful, Jones. You look like you're about to blow a fuse," she says, lounging against his doorframe like she belongs there.

"I have to concentrate a little harder when there are beautiful women standing in my doorway," he says, trying to keep his eyes on the computer screen. He glances up long enough to see the pink tinge crossing her cheeks and he bites his bottom lip in an attempt to not smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Regina sent us over to get acquainted with the surveys. Apparently there are certain batches going out at different times and the first round is ready to be picked up. I have to talk with your buddy about the particulars of the website design and then head back," she explains, shifting from one heeled foot to the other.

He's not used to seeing heels, rather preferring the shoes she walks to work in, but it takes some effort to not stare and appreciate the way they make her calves look. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice his diverted attention and huffs out a sigh. "Just wanted to see what it's like in your world," she finishes, and her eyes meet his again.

"Well, you're welcome to stop in any time you're in the area," he offers, holding his arms out to indicate the space around him.

"Don't fry your brain," she comments before pushing off the frame, presumably to go find Will. He simultaneously wants to bang his head on his desk and pump a fist in the air, simply for interacting with her and not tripping over his own tongue. With reluctance, he turns his attention back to the document in front of him and gets back to work, but visions of those eyes, those _calves_ tend to disrupt him for the rest of the day.

* * *

The work week passes quickly, with greetings to Emma in the mornings, steady work in the afternoons, and dinner spent with his work in the evenings. On Friday, he's lost in thoughts about Emma's hair falling around her shoulders that morning instead of doing his work when Will waltzes in and drops into the single chair across from his desk.

"Get your girlfriend to go out with us tonight, mate," he says. It's not unusual for Will to enter in such a manner, but Killian is thrown by the word 'girlfriend' and stares at him for a moment before he realizes he's talking about Emma.

"Emma's not my girlfriend," he says, trying not to sound too bristly.

"Well, not with that bloody attitude she's not," Will says, cheeky grin in place. "C'mon. I'm heading over to check on the first round of surveys. You're not busy, right?"

Killian stares at his computer screen. Sure, he's been taking his work home with him every night, but that doesn't mean he's so far ahead that he can just leave because he wants to see Emma. Maybe just this once. He sucks in a deep breath and saves his work, motioning for Will to lead the way when he stands from his chair.

Ten minutes later, they are stepping off a rather foul smelling elevator to the data and research center where Emma and Belle work. Will leads them through a maze system of cubicles, each housing a different entry specialist hard at work. Will turns a corner and greets Belle with a smile and a wink and points to the next cubicle when Killian raises his eyebrow.

He shuffles over a few steps to see Emma chewing on her lip, eyes looking back and forth between the survey in her hand and her computer screen. He props his elbow on the short wall and watches her work. She's in so deep that she doesn't seem to be aware of anything else around her, so he takes advantage of the moment. Gone is the free-flowing hair of the morning. It's pulled high on her head in a sloppy bun, little wisps escaping and brushing her neck. She's also got her glasses on, which he clearly remembers were not on this morning.

"Swan, you look vexed," he finally says, swallowing the laughter that threatens to erupt when she jumps in her chair hard enough to push it back from her desk. She spares him a quick glance and the noise she makes is pure frustration, but Killian is sure it has less to do with him and more with what's in her hand.

"How are these people filling out surveys for a publisher's website if they don't even know how to write? I mean, look at this. This guy never moved beyond cave paintings," she says, holding out a handwritten survey form which looks like it has been dipped in garbage. It smells faintly of animal. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

"I'm not touching that," he says simply.

"Exactly," she says, setting it down away from her and pumping a generous amount of sanitizer into her hands before rubbing them together furiously.

"It sounds like you need to go out drinking tonight," he says casually. She looks at him, eyebrows drawn down below the frames of her glasses.

"If by drinking you mean eating a tub of ice cream and binge watching Netflix, then yes, that's exactly what I need to do," she responds.

"Come on, love, you need to get out and expend some of that pent up energy making Will's life miserable at the bar tonight." Even the prospect of harassing Will doesn't seem to be changing her mind, so he slides a little further into the cubicle to stand next to her. "Have a drink with me, Swan," he says, grinning down at her and reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He does it without thinking, and his fingers stray to gently caress a spot behind her ear. Somehow, the move is even more intimate than kissing her on the cheek the Friday before. He's fixated on the way her lips part a little when his skin meets hers and he panics a little, backing up to the entrance of her small workspace. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the look Will is giving him, tapping his watch a little impatiently.

"Maybe," she finally says, and he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Great! I'll see you tonight."

"Maybe isn't yes, Jones."

"It's not a no either, Swan," he says, and throws in a wink for good measure. He has no idea what he's doing with this woman, but at least he knows he has the same effect on her that she has on him. With that parting gesture, he turns and follows Will back out of the office.

* * *

Killian decides that flirting with Emma is one thing, but acting on some of these silly notions like the kiss on the cheek, and touching her hair, is a can of worms he doesn't know if he's ready to open. He didn't lie when he called her beautiful. She is, and he's not one to say such things if he doesn't mean them. But the fact that he knows so very little about her is disconcerting. The last time it was this easy to fall for someone, the heartbreak nearly did him in.

He spends the rest of the afternoon after work cleaning, because it's the only thing he can think of to try and calm his thoughts down. If she does show up later, he wants to be able to control himself, for heaven's sake.

By the time he's getting ready for the evening out, his whole place is clean. For once, he could eat off his kitchen counters if he so chose, and his bathroom doesn't look like it's inhabited by a pack of slobs. He's even managed to head around the corner with a dozen or so items to be dry cleaned. He gets the angry text from Will asking where he is just as he's leaving home, much cleaner and more comfortable than he has been all day.

Emma isn't there when he shows up, and he has to hide his disappointment behind a pint, but Will and Belle are fine enough company, so he loses himself in the conversation after he allows himself a moment to sulk.

"Stop pouting, mate," Will says when Belle leaves to go get another round. "She's running late. She'll be here with that bloody wolf girl she lives with in a bit." His face must give something away because Will suddenly claps him on the back and starts laughing. "Bloody hell, it's been a long time since I've seen _that_ look on your face, Jones."

"Sod off," Killian mumbles.

"Whoa, who pissed in your cornflakes?" At the sound of Emma's voice, he almost chokes on his beer. Will slaps his back once.

"Easy there, mate," he says, and Killian can hear the laugh in his voice.

"Oh, you're with this one. That's enough of an explanation for the look on your face," she says as she slides into the seat next to Killian.

"Come now, Emma. I haven't done anything to wrong you tonight. You look lovely," Will comments. It's a comment made to rile her and compliment her at the same time, a trick he's rather good at.

"Uh-huh. Thanks, Will," Emma says, and then Belle and Ruby are back with drinks for everyone and the conversation switches.

Despite his lengthy attempts to clear his head, Killian still finds he wants to reach out and touch Emma. It's easy enough to follow and contribute to the conversations so only Will notices he's a little off his game, a little slower with the one-liners than he normally would be. He gives Killian a questioning look at one point, but Killian shakes his head a little and jumps at the next innuendo he can.

Ruby disappears first, claiming she's spotted some friends she hasn't hung out with in a while. It's just vague enough that no one questions it, and the conversation keeps going. Shortly after, though, Belle gets up and tugs Will along, telling Emma and Killian that they need to head out. Something about a movie they've been meaning to watch all week, but work has gotten in the way. It's as they are saying their goodbyes and another round appears on the table for each of them that they realize exactly what has happened.

"We've been set up," Killian mutters as he looks around at the bar. Ruby is nowhere to be found. Any other contacts they know are off in their own worlds. It's Killian and Emma at the table alone, sitting side by side, and they look around the bar once before looking at each other.

"Our friends aren't very subtle, are they?" Emma asks, reaching for her drink and sipping it.

"No, I'm afraid they aren't, Swan," Killian says, turning in his seat to face her. "What now?" She shrugs in response, taking another sip from her drink. "We could jump straight to the chase and make out," Killian offers after another second of silence.

It does the trick. Emma throws her head back and laughs, and the tension is gone. He orders food when he realizes he never ate dinner. She claims she isn't hungry but still steals fries from his plate every chance she gets. They fall into easy conversation about the work they're doing. What Emma doesn't know is that when Killian starts talking about work, it's hard to get him to shut up.

"No seriously," he says, tipping his beer in her direction, "what if the concept of True Love's Kiss was a curse?" They haven't moved from their spots, still sitting next to each other. He doesn't even really know how they end up on this topic, except they were talking about the novella he's in charge of, a twisted fairy tale of sorts.

"Curse how? It's True Love's fucking Kiss," she responds, stealing more of his fries. He pushes the whole plate towards her.

"Like, say some poor chap with one hand finally meets his True Love. The one that completes him. They kiss, and instead of living happily ever after, she gets turned into a hand." She's halfway to her mouth with a fry but just stops and stares at him like he's grown another head. "Then he's just a poor, lonely bastard with a reminder of his love, and what he's missing, that he can't even attach."

"Jones, I think it's time to cut you off," Emma says and grabs for his beer.

"No way. It's only my first," he lies. They both crack up, the beer and gin loosening them up pleasantly. "Just think how much weirder it'll get if we keep drinking."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she says, but resumes devouring the rest of his fries while he watches in amusement.

"Good?" he asks when she's picking up the last crumbs from the plate.

"Better if they were onion rings, but they hit the spot," she says, wiping her mouth with her hand.

"I'll make a note of that for next time."

* * *

When they leave the bar, neither of them are entirely steady.

"Swan, I insist you let me walk you home this time," Killian says, holding out his arm for her to take. She snorts, but loops her arm through his. They stand there for almost a solid minute, staring at each other, until Killian reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "I've no idea where you live, Swan. You have to lead."

"You are the worst gentleman ever," she says, tugging him in the direction of her apartment building.

"I disagree. Knowing where you lived before you told me would constitute being a stalker. Would you prefer I was a stalker, love?"

"Why do you always call me that?"

"Swan?" He feels like he's missing some vital piece of information when he looks at her, the beer clouding his thought process just a touch. She's smirking, so whatever it is he's doing, it's not pissing her off.

"No. Love," she responds.

"No love what?" he jokes. She pinches him where her hand is resting on his arm. "I'm joking. Only joking. It's nothing but a nickname. Kind of like how Will and I call each other 'mate' whenever we're talking."

"Do you call other people 'love'?" Her voice is quiet when she asks and they've stopped walking. He's not sure if it's because they've arrived at her home or if it's because of the conversation. He swallows hard, because to his knowledge, she's the only one he calls that anymore. He's not sure he ever made a decision to start calling her that, but it came so naturally.

"I think Belle is the only other one I allow that title," he finally responds. He's not sure if he's called her that, ever, but he's not sure Emma needs to know that. She seems to consider this information and nods.

She looks past him to the building and gestures up at it.

"This is me," she says, pulling her arm from his. She starts up the steps and his mind races for a second.

"Emma, wait," he calls just as she reaches the top of the short porch. She turns and looks at where he's still rooted to the spot. "Will you go out with me?" he rushes out. Her mouth opens and shuts twice before she seems to settle on the words she wants.

"What do you call what we just did?"

"Friend abandonment," he deadpans. She laughs and steps down to the bottom step, standing slightly above eye level. "Dates usually come with goodnight kisses, Swan," he says with a smile.

"So you expect me to kiss you now?"

"No. When I do kiss you, Emma, I don't intend for there to be so much alcohol clouding our memory of it," he says. Instead, he takes her hand, brings it up and kisses it gently. He rubs his thumb over the spot his lips just were, once, before releasing it and taking a step back. "Goodnight Emma," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. She still looks a little dazed, but she's smirking again.

"Goodnight Killian," she responds. She turns and walks back up the steps, into the building, and Killian is left standing outside with his heart pounding just a little harder than normal. He knew when she said his name it would feel a lot like what he feels like now.


	4. Chapter 3: New Routines

Title: New Routines

Rated: T for any language I may have forgotten was in here.

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: Date night for our burgeoning lovebirds. Thank you so much to all that have responded to this in any way. Every notification and email I get regarding this just lights up my whole day.

* * *

CHAPTER 3: New Routines

The change in their routine after Killian asks her out is slow but noticeable. Their smiles are a little wider when they pass each other, their eyes linger a little longer when they say good morning. She pops in to see him every time she and Belle need to visit Neverendings, and he tags along any time Will is going to visit Belle, lingering at the entrance to her cubicle and trying everything in his power to make her blush. He succeeds more often than not.

Emma hasn't said one way or the other about going out with Killian, but it doesn't seem to scare him off. She hates that she has baggage to carry around, but it is the one thing standing in her way of starting anything with him.

It's Will that casually mentions that she's not alone in that department. He stops by with lunch for Belle one day, no Killian trailing behind him. When he sees Emma's head peeking out of her cubicle, he sends her a genuinely apologetic look.

"He's gotten saddled with another project. He wanted to come," Will says. He comes forward a bit while Belle is still occupied with work and stands in the doorway of her cubicle. "Emma," Will starts, "you should probably know something about Killian." Emma's heart stops when he says this. She's expecting the worst, as always. She stares at him expectantly.

"Is he a polygamist? Does he have three wives that I should know about?" Will laughs, shakes his head.

"No, nothing like that. He just hasn't been in a relationship in a long time. Had his heart broken clean in two the last time. If I'm not mistaken, that's something the two of you have in common," he says gently. There's something about the way he's says it. This is a level of friendship they've never crossed, preferring witty banter and disguised hatred to show their friendly affection for each other instead.

"I'm guessing he doesn't know you're telling me this?" Emma asks.

"No. Probably tell me to mind my own bloody business. But it's funny. About a month and a half ago he started smiling to way he used to," Will says, conspiratorial look in his eyes. It's that moment that Belle straightens from her desk and rounds the cubicle to stand by Will.

"We're going to eat in the courtyard today. Would you like to join us?" Belle asks, her fingers linking with Will's like she doesn't even know she's doing it. The sight makes something in Emma's stomach clench and she tears her eyes away from their joined hands and turns back to her work.

"No. You two enjoy. I'll see you after lunch."

They turn to leave her alone, but Emma calls back to Will before he gets too far.

"Thanks. I'll try not to be too mean to you from now on," she says.

"Bollocks! That's half the fun of it!" he states, grinning from ear to ear and turning around as Emma laughs. She glances at the clock when she's alone again, then logs off her computer to go find her own lunch.

* * *

Killian is bent over his desk, papers spread from one side to the other, and his attention is divided between the papers and his computer monitor. His hair is messed up, the product of moving his hands through it too often, much like he's doing now, and Emma is struck by how adorable he is when he's flustered. She's been standing in his door for at least a full minute and he still hasn't looked up, so she slowly moves into the room and sits in the chair across from him.

"Be with you in just a minute," he mumbles as he checks something on the page in front of him.

"Take your time," she says, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out when his head whips up to look at her.

"Well you're just a sight for sore eyes, love," he says after opening and closing his mouth a few times.

"I thought you might be hungry. Will told me you had to work through lunch." She places the take-out bag from Granny's on the only clear spot on his desk. The gratitude is clear on his face as he looks between the bag and Emma.

"I'm forever in your debt, Swan," he says, finally reaching for the bag and opening it. When the scent of his favorite hits him, he just holds the bag to his chest for a moment before digging out the food. While he's occupied, she slides a napkin next to his computer with her number on it. She knows he'll love her covert way of passing it on to him.

"You can repay me by taking me out on that date," Emma says nonchalantly, rising from the chair and heading for the door before he has an opportunity to even react. She's out the door before he can respond, smile spread across her lips from the absolutely flabbergasted expression on his face as she left.

Emma's not surprised when she gets a text message later in the day from him.

_You're a sly one, Emma Swan._

She grins and turns back to her work, smiling even through the worst of the surveys and their inability to understand anything about graphic design.

* * *

It takes them a week to find time to go on a date. They promise not to talk about work before they even sit down in the restaurant. It's a small place, all ambient lighting and blue linen tablecloths. He's in the dark gray slacks he usually wears to work, but he's wearing a plan black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Emma has a hard time not staring at the patch of chest hair she can see where he's left a few buttons undone. It's a battle to maintain eye contact between that and his forearms, she decides as they sit reading the menus.

She opted for her favorite skirt and a pale pink blouse that shows off just the right amount of cleavage appropriate for a first date. When the waiter comes to take their drink order, he asks her if she wants wine. She agrees to a glass of whatever he chooses and when the waiter leaves, she speaks up.

"But I'm only having the one glass," she says plainly.

"Why is that, Swan? Afraid you won't be able to resist me after all?" The look he gives her from over his menu as he says this can only be described as 'devilish' and she reminds her hormones that first dates do not mean sex.

"No, I seem to remember you saying something about not wanting to kiss me when there's so much alcohol in the way," she says, tone casual, eyes still scanning her menu. She's pleased to see that he swallows hard after that and presses his lips together.

"Just one it is, then," he replies after a minute. They slip back into silence until after their meals are ordered and he returns his attentions to her. She has to stop herself from staring too long at his eyes, a deeper blue in the low lighting, but then they just shift to his lips, or his chest, or those _damn_ forearms and she sips nervously at her wine as she tries to think of anything to say.

"Swan," he says, and it's just that word, just her last name, and she knows exactly what he's saying. _Why are you so nervous?_

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just a weird shift. Three weeks ago you were just the hot guy I passed on the way to work," she says, all in a rush, not realizing what she's said until it's already out of her mouth.

"The hot guy, huh?" he says with a cheeky grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

"What did you think of me as before you knew my name?"

"Blonde goddess," he says without a moment of thought, and she raises an eyebrow at him. "You had your hair all wrapped up around your head that day, and the same skirt you're wearing now. You looked ethereal, Swan. Robin is thrilled that I've only been late once in the entire time I've started walking to work early just to see you."

It's her turn to swallow hard, hearing his admission, and knowing that the day that he was late was because _she_ was late. She's grateful to her alarm only because it's the day that changed everything.

"Wow," she finally manages. She wants to rub her palms across her thighs, but is afraid of leaving sweat spots behind.

"I've been told I could write romance novels," he says, and it's the seriousness of his tone mixed with the smile in his eyes that finally makes Emma smile and calms her nerves.

"I'd buy them," she admits.

"The Adventures of Hot Guy and Blonde Goddess," he says, squinting his eyes above her head and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I think they could be best sellers, love."

"And what adventures would we go on, Killian?" She sees his expression change for a heartbeat when she uses his first name before he leans forward, grabbing one of the hands she's placed on the table again.

"Epic battles, Swan. We couldn't have just any boring old love story. We would need action, fighting to find each other after being separated, and when it's all said and done we would share True Love's Kiss and you would turn me into a frog." She is so distracted by the way his fingers are rubbing over her knuckles, the deep timbre of his voice that she almost misses the last part, but she hears it, and she chortles at the picture he's painted.

Their meals arrive, then, breaking them apart and sending them to other topics while they eat. She finds out he was an English major, originally, before turning his sights on the publishing world. She learns he loves poetry and literature, and the romance novelist comment is even more believable after that. He promises to read her poetry someday, including that he'll use a lofty voice and all the pretention he can muster.

He asks about how she got into survey and data entry, and she only admits that she studied to be a graphic designer when she was in college, even interning at a place where she got to spread her wings in the world of graphic design. But a sudden move had her relocated and without a job, so when Belle told her to apply for a job at her place of employment, she was desperate enough to do so. She leaves out a lot of the details, but anything she's omitted is not first date material anyways.

When they leave, he holds out his arm for her to take again and automatically starts heading towards Emma's apartment building. They stop just outside the entrance, and it takes everything in Emma not to invite him up. Remembering her conversation with Will, Emma knows that Killian may have the same apprehensions.

"I suppose this is goodnight, then," Killian says, hands in his pockets. She's struck again by his gentleman act, that isn't actually an act. This is just who he is. She can feel how much he wants to kiss her radiating between them, but he's not moving forward based on assumptions. Stepping out of her comfort zone, Emma moves a step closer to him. She threads one hand into the hair at the base of his neck and slides the other up his chest. His hands come down to rest on her waist even though he gasps in surprise. She redirects at the last second and kisses his cheek. She can feel his heartbeat racing and holds back the laugh that wants to tumble out of her.

"Goodnight, Killian," she whispers when she pulls back. She turns quickly and dashes up the stairs to her building.

"_Blood hell_," she hears him mutter and her laughter finally spills out of her as the door shuts behind her. She gets a single text from him a few minutes later, three small words written on the screen, and she laughs giddily when she reads them.

_Bad form, Swan._

She resists replying more than a smiley face and instead goes to get ready for bed, still floating on the high of simply being around Killian.

* * *

On Monday morning, she walks to the corner as she always does, not entirely surprised to see him standing on the other corner already. When the signal changes, they check both ways and walk across the street at the same pace. He's opening his mouth to make some smart remark, but she beats him to it, instead pulling him forward by his tie and covering his mouth with hers. With a noise of surprise, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. She keeps a hold on his tie and runs her other hand through his hair again, relishing the silky feel of it between her fingers.

She subtly sways them to turn and breaks away just as suddenly as she started the kiss.

"Good morning, Killian," she says, as sweetly as possible, and then swiftly moves away, continuing down the street as he remains dumbstruck to the spot she left him. She looks back once before she turns the corner and winks at him. A little relieved to finally see him move his hand and wave at her as a satisfied smile takes over his whole face.

"Good morning, Emma!" follows her around the corner, and she's glad he can't see the way she laughs delightedly. She's not even upset when three bodybuilders crowd her into the back of the elevator when she arrives.


	5. Chapter 4: Routine Needs

Title: Routine Needs

Rated: T bordering on M. But just bordering on it. (It's coming next, I promise!)

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: When you get to the bottom, you're going to hate me. But I promise, it's in the next one. And I promise I'm writing as fast as I possibly can, because the feedback is feeding my muses with so much love.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: Routine Needs

Killian Jones is having a shite day. Absolute shite. His computer crashes in the morning, leaving three days progress lost to the technological hell he finds himself in. He rubs his eyes when he thinks of the corrections he made to the novella, all of the progress lost. He thinks of the press releases he had finally finished drafting up, the wording absolutely perfect. He wishes for rum. Lots and lots of rum, and Emma Swan.

"Hey, you were supposed to—Killian, what's wrong?" He looks up as one wish enters through the door and he idly wonders if she has rum stashed somewhere on her.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, roughly rubbing his hand over his face again. "I've had a bit of a set-back. I should've called."

After a moment of hesitation, she moves to stand behind him at his desk, working her thumbs into the knots along his shoulders and the base of his neck. He wants to melt into his chair at her ministrations. His head drops forward and he sighs, letting his muscles relax for a moment.

It's been three weeks since their first date and the delayed first kiss, but the ones that have followed have been just as spectacular. He and Emma have found their own rhythm in their strange version of dating. It's a balancing act between both of their jobs, and a handful of quiet date nights with homemade food, usually with both of them working on something as she's begun working closer with Will on the designs for the website. The surveys are almost complete and the website premier is just around the corner.

He notices that in the short time they've been doing this, she's managed to work routines into their days together, and he doesn't mind one bit.

"Do you want me to bring you lunch?" she asks, giving his shoulders one more squeeze before moving to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You really are a marvel, Swan," he says, grabbing one of her hands and kissing the back of it softly. The smile she gives him eases a little more of the tension in his back and he gratefully accepts the kiss she places on his lips.

"I'll be back in five," she says before heading back out of his office.

By the time she returns, he's at least recovered the corrections and marks on the novella, which makes his blood pressure fall slightly. The press release seems to be gone entirely, though, so he knows the next few hours of work will be spent trying to recreate that.

"I won't distract you," she says, placing a kiss on his cheek as she sets the bag down on his desk. "Call me later, okay?"

"I will. Thank you, Emma. For all of this," he says sincerely, wishing their lunch break could've been spent together.

Instead of a response, she kisses him again, smiling sweetly and wishing him luck before she and her pencil skirt swish out of his office. He sighs again, heavily, and opens the bag of food.

* * *

It's not Friday, but by the time he gets out of the office, he texts Emma to meet him at the bar they always go to. This is outside of any routine either of them had prior to meeting, but he thinks an exception can be made for days like this one.

When he walks in, he walks up to the bar and waits for the bartender. She's a different one than the one that blew off Emma the first night he met her there. This one is much nicer, hair so blonde it's almost white, and while she's quiet and subdued and gets called "Ice Queen" behind her back, she is a damn good bartender. She's just selective about who she's nice to.

"Good evening, Elsa," he calls when she exits the back room to bring food out for another patron.

"You're here early! By like, two days! Where's Emma?" she asks as she grabs a glass and pours a beer for him.

"On her way," he responds, handing over the money and sighing his thanks after the first sip.

He's ready for the day to be over, but knows that it'll turn around as soon as he has Emma in his arms. For the second time that day, he thinks his wish has been granted as arms wrap around his middle, but the voice that speaks after is definitely not Emma's and Killian wants the ground to swallow him before he has to deal with what's behind him.

"It's been too long, stranger," he hears, and looks down to see the perfectly manicured hands that definitely do not belong to Emma resting on his stomach.

"Milah," he says. He wishes there was more hatred in the word. He wishes there was any emotion other than what sounds like someone ripping stitches out of an open wound. The pit in his stomach is threatening to swallow him and he's afraid to turn around and look at her, but he needs to let her know her intimacy with him is unwelcome. The thought of Emma gives him the courage to take a deep breath and turn around.

Milah looks exactly like he remembers. Her long brown hair is down, some of it cascading over her shoulder, and the twinkle in her eyes is one of mischief. She smiles at him like she did when they were together, and he can feel the old wounds in his heart reopening. He wishes again for rum, and makes a note to ask Elsa for a double shot of it as soon as this is over with.

"Killian," she says warmly. She leans in to hug him again and he holds out his hands.

"Don't, please," he manages, pressing back against the bar a little more to try to open the space between them.

"Oh, come on. It's been a couple years but you're telling me you're not happy to see me?"

"Milah, the last time I saw you, you had just turned down my marriage proposal. A month later, your engagement announcement was in the paper. I fail to see how I should be _happy_ to see you," he grits out.

"Oh, that," Milah says, looking like she might get it for the first time since he's turned around. "Well, I had my reasons. But you," she stops suddenly and examines him for a moment. "You've met someone, haven't you?"

"I have," he replies, letting out a deep breath.

"And is she also your everything, Killian?"

"She's more than that, because she's not hiding her engagement to some other man from me."

Even as he speaks, Milah still runs one nail down his tie. It's the green one that Emma loves, the one that matches her eyes. The thought of her must summon her, for real this time, because he hears Emma cough next to him and he turns his head to look at her, smile appearing on his face without even trying. Killian reaches out and pulls her to his side like a lifeline.

"Hello, love," he whispers into her hair as he kisses the side of her head. He doesn't say it quietly enough, because Milah's eyes widen at the nickname and she steps back as if burned.

"It was nice seeing you, Killian," she says stiffly before walking away. Emma watches her go, but Killian slumps back against the bar as his arm tightens around her waist. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart back down. He chances a look at Emma. She doesn't look upset, but he needs to handle this the right way.

He didn't want to have this conversation yet, would've preferred to never have it at all but knows that isn't an option. Past relationships before this moment were closed off from conversation, but now he needs to tell her. He opens his mouth to start explaining, but Emma holds her fingers over his lips lightly.

"Not now. Not here. We can talk about it later," she says. His heart clenches again, and he has to remember how to breathe, but he places another kiss on her forehead to show his gratitude. She grabs his beer and hands it over to him, smiling a little and squeezing his bicep once before she turns her attention to Elsa behind the bar.

* * *

The walk back to Emma's is relatively silent. He intends on telling her on the way, but she squeezes his hand and leans her head on his shoulder, so he stays quiet. When they reach her apartment building, she surprises him by tugging on his hand. This is not part of the routine. He usually kisses her goodnight and begins the journey home, late evenings normally unacceptable on work nights. He still hasn't moved, so she tugs a little harder, propelling him to follow behind her into the building and up to her apartment.

"Ruby's out with Victor again," Emma says when they enter the dark space.

"They seem to be getting rather close," he comments as he collapses onto the couch. He hears her tinkering in the kitchen for a couple minutes and guesses that she's making tea. The pallor never really left his face, even after they sat down and ate and he finally got his rum. Emma's looks at him had slowly transformed from patience and understanding to worry. Killian knows that Will has hinted of this to Emma, but his relationship with Milah and the time that followed their break-up can hardly been summed up in a few quick sentences. He's determined to reduce it to that, though, because it doesn't mean anything to him anymore.

When Emma comes into the living room, she hands him a mug and sits down facing him, legs folded under her and attention undivided.

"So that's the one Will was talking about?" she inquires.

_Straight to the chase_, he thinks. "Yes, that was Milah," he responds, cradling the mug. Even though summer is almost in full swing, the feel of the hot mug between his hands is soothing.

"You don't have to tell me everything if you don't want to. Lord knows I have my own demons," she says.

"I'm not complaining, love," he says after finally sipping his tea, "but you are being exceptionally rational about a woman practically manhandling me when you walked in."

"You looked like you were about to hurl. And once, I wasn't so understanding. Believe me. Just be glad you're dating me now instead of me six years ago," she says. He knows there's a story there, but she's not offering anything else and he's not going to push, not when she's being as patient with him as she is.

"When she turned down my proposal, she said it was because she wasn't the marrying type," he starts. He knows if he starts it there, he doesn't have to explain anything else. They were together long enough for him to love her, and it was serious enough that he thought she'd say yes. Emma's brows furrow when she hears this. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

"A month after she said no, and subsequently disappeared from my life, Will came into my office like there was a bomb in his hand. He handed over the wedding announcements and there she was with Mister Gold." He can tell by her sharp intake of breath that he doesn't have to explain who Gold is. His wealth and charity to the city are invaluable, but there was always something darkly ominous about the man.

"I'm not proud of the man I became for a while after that. A lot of drunken nights where Robin or Will had to haul me home. A handful of one-nighters that I'd rather never speak of if you won't make me. Eventually I just shut off my emotions all together. It took almost a year for me to act like a normal human being again, and even then Will still sometimes looked at me like he was waiting for that Killian Jones to come back." Silence stretches for a few minutes while he sips at the tea until the mug is empty and Emma processes the abridged version of his history.

"She looked like she didn't like you calling me 'love'," Emma finally says plainly.

"The only other person other than my brother's wife that I've called 'love' is Milah, not Belle. I'm sorry I lied to you about that, but I just couldn't then, not yet."

"You should've just told me the truth," she says sharply. She huffs out a breath. Obviously he's touched a nerve with a lie no matter how small it seemed to him, but she reaches up to take his hand when he places the mug on a coaster on the coffee table.

"Sorry, just… Don't lie to me again. I have enough names on the list of people who've done that and I don't ever want to add you to that," she says a little softer. She brings his palm up to her lips and kisses the center of it before linking her fingers with his.

"I promise, Swan. I will tell you the truth about whatever you ask," he says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. This time, he lets his fingers graze the spot behind her ear on purpose, enjoying the way she closes her eyes and leans into the contact. When she opens them again, there's a heat in her eyes that sends a shiver up his scalp.

Emma Swan has been the subject of many of his fantasies and wet dreams since before they even met, but other than some heady make out sessions, they've both been holding back. But now, now that she's looking at him like she is, he's having a harder time not acting on his more primal instincts. She chews her bottom lip in thought for a moment before leaning forward and kissing him, and the ferocity makes him think she's having just as difficult of a time holding back.

She all but crawls into his lap, tilting her head to the side to change the angle of the kiss. His hands are hovering just above contact with her, and then she swipes her tongue against his lips and it's a crash of intensity that has him wrapping his arms around her back, one hand sliding up her neck to tangle in her hair.

Emma actually does crawl into his lap, next, and when her hips settle over his, he groans involuntarily. Being underneath her is one of the most exquisite tortures Killian has ever felt and he would give anything to stay right there, her almost unconsciously rocking her hips against his as weeks of sexual tension finally come to the surface.

"Killian, I—"

She doesn't get to say whatever is on her mind, though, because the door swings open and Ruby practically prances into the apartment at that moment.

"Emma! I just had the best—oh shit," she says, catching sight of the couple on the couch and their precarious position. "Ah, I'm gonna go grab something. Out of my bedroom. So I'll just… be in my bedroom. For a while," she stammers out before turning and retreating as quickly as she can.

When Killian looks at Emma, she's bright red, mouth still hanging open from her friend's sudden appearance and departure.

"This really just is a shite day," Killian finally mumbles. He guides Emma's mouth back to his for a kiss that's chaste in the light of their previous ones and breaks away to lean his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, but he can tell she's grinning and he pulls back to look at her, cupping her cheek in his hand and smiling with her.

"I'd much prefer this to the other interruptions my day has given me," he says sincerely, rubbing his thumb across her cheek once before running it gently across her bottom lip. As he watches his finger touch the smooth skin, the urge to ruin everything with three words hits him for the first time. _Too soon,_ he thinks, _way too soon for that kind of bloody nonsense._ With that thought beating like his heart, he meets her eyes again. "It's getting late. I should go."

She just nods in response, clambering off his lap and helps pull him to his feet. She walks him to the door and kisses him again, sweeter but still with that hint of heat behind it and he's tempted to throw caution to the wind again and stay the night, but something is still pushing him to hold off, to wait just a little longer knowing every minute will be worth it when it does happen.

"Goodnight, Killian," she says quietly, giving him one more kiss before untangling herself from their shared embrace.

"Goodnight, love," he says, and if he means the last word a little more than he did when he walked in, then at least he wasn't stupid enough to say the whole phrase.

* * *

The walk home is sobering and lonely. Killian was never a patient man before meeting Emma. He was always one to just take what he wanted and damn the consequences. That all changed the first time he saw her and he wonders just when she worked herself so far under his skin. Certainly it couldn't have been before he panicked when she was late. Thoughts of her untimely demise had flashed before his eyes that day and if he had any idea where she lived, he would've walked all the way there just to assure that she was okay.

He thinks of the relief that washed over him that morning upon seeing her rush up to her corner, out of breath and flushed, a victim of over sleeping if he ever saw one. And he thought about how ridiculous he had been to think she had somehow died in the twenty-four hours since he'd seen her. It's what finally drove him to introduce himself, because the woman was more dependable than any alarm clock he had ever owned and he wanted to finally know her.

It's this thought that follows him in the door to his small duplex apartment and he leans against the door for a moment. Alone in the quiet, he suddenly realizes how exhausted he is and rubs his hands over his face. His text message alert pings in his pocket and he pulls his phone out, smiling when he sees Emma's name.

_Ruby's already apologized 8 times since you left._

He smiles at the message, knowing that Ruby's apologies have probably been loud and have probably detailed exactly what she thinks she was interrupting. No doubt Emma's face is probably a permanent shade of that pink he finds so endearing.

He texts back and forth with her while he gets ready for bed, surprised that Emma has stayed up this far past her self-imposed bedtime. He's just checked the locks on the front door to make sure they're secured for the evening and turns out the light in the living room when he hears a knock at the front door. He immediately clicks the light back on.

Killian takes a moment to stare at the door in question, because it's well after midnight and after the day he's had, he's not sure he wants to open it to any more unpleasant surprises. Moving warily, he slides the deadbolt out and pulls the door open enough to see who's on the porch. He takes in the sight of Emma standing there, in her pajamas, with her satchel and an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

He swings the door open wider with open shock on his face, and Emma grins at him.

"Swan? Is everything all right, love?"

She walks in when he motions her inside and sets her bags on the floor by her feet while he relocks the door. She still hasn't responded, and he turns to ask again what she's doing here, not that he's complaining, but the words never get a chance to come out.

The moment he turns to her, she hooks her fingers into the waist of his sleep pants and tugs him against her. She tastes like toothpaste when he kisses her and he finds the same heat that was simmering before, now allowed to boil over, and when she guides them back to his bedroom with their pajamas trailing behind them, he thinks there's something to bad days having better endings.


	6. Chapter 5: Routine Workout

Title: Routine Workout

Rated: M! Smut ahead!

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: This chapter was a pain in the ass. I'll leave it as that. This is also the longest chapter, and I hope it's worth the wait.

* * *

CHAPTER 5: Routine Workout

Closing the door behind Killian, Emma has every intention of getting ready for bed and spending a hefty amount of time calming down her hormones. But then Ruby comes out of her room apologizing up a storm and following her as she gets ready to sleep, explaining that she was going to stay at Victor's but he got called in to the hospital. It's after the fifth apology that she makes a decision.

They day has called for a break in the routines she bases her life on, and she decides she's not ready to stop breaking them just yet.

By the time she leaves the apartment, Ruby has, indeed, apologized eight times. She's not lying when she sends that text to Killian. She also happens to be halfway to his place by the time she sends it. She knows how long it takes him to walk home. Even if he takes his time, he won't have gone to bed just yet.

The entire walk over, she's jittery. She could've chanced taking the Bug, but there's no guarantee that it will even start. She hasn't driven it in months. She's not sure if she's even left any gas in it, even if the distance between her place and Killian's is relatively short. The walk in the fresh air calms some of the nerves she has, though, so she's glad she didn't opt to drive.

As she's walking up the front path, she sees the light in the living room click off and she rushes up the stairs and knocks. The light clicks on again, but there's a pause between that and Killian opening the door just the tiniest bit, like he's afraid what may be on the other side. It makes her smile, even when he sounds so worried.

"Emma? Is everything all right, love?"

Whatever response she plans on saying dies in her throat when he opens the door further and he's standing there in just a loose pair of sweats. The smile starts hurting her cheeks as he ushers her inside and relocks the door. She places her presumptuous overnight bag and her work bag at her feet and ends up staring again.

"See something you like, Swan?" The cocky grin she's gotten used to over the time she's known him is back on his lips, his hands shoved into the pockets of the pants while he rocks back on his heels. The husky tone of his voice is new, though, and it sends heat between her thighs. This is brand new territory that she's ready to explore.

"Maybe," she offers back. She's proud that her voice comes out low and seductive, instead of squeaky and unsure. His chuckle is low as he pushes off the door.

"I'm glad you're appreciating the view," he says as she pulls him against her.

"Maybe isn't yes, Jones."

"It isn't a no, either," he reminds her. She bites her cheek to stop from smiling, remembering those words spoken in the harsh fluorescent lighting in her cubicle with much less sexual implication (but still some if she's being honest with herself). At least this time she's allowed to shut him up with her lips.

She feels the thrum of tension just below his skin, can feel it in the way he kisses her back with desperation. She lets instinct take over, instead of thought. She doesn't think about how tired she will be in the morning, or how this will inevitably throw off her whole day tomorrow. She thinks of him, and the way his hands are sliding under her shirt, drawing it up and over her head, his hands immediately finding her bare breasts.

She gasps at the contact, steps out of her shoes and starts edging him towards his bedroom. He shifts his attention from her lips to her neck, to the spot just behind her ear that he knows will rile her up. She pauses their route to the bedroom to push him against the wall in the hallway and while his hands on her lower back hold her close, he hesitates for a second.

"Emma, are you sure?"

She doesn't respond with words. She lets her actions answer for her. She steps back and hooks her thumbs into the light cotton pants she wore over, sliding them down her hips and letting them fall to the floor. She watches as his eyes sweep down her whole body, sees the muscles of his jaw clench as he swallows and drags his eyes back up to meet hers.

He doesn't move, and it takes everything in her power not to fidget in front of him with how intense his stare is. There's something below the surface between them, something she isn't willing to look at tonight in the quiet dark of his hallway, or even tomorrow in the light of day.

Finally, he brings his hands up. He rests them lightly on her shoulders for a moment before softly running them all the way down until the backs of his hands brush over her fingertips. He starts again at the top, this time brushing his fingers over her collarbone, sweeping down and just dusting across her breasts, each nipple, before he continues down. He places his hands gently on her hips and pulls her back to where he's still leaning against the wall.

"You're stunning, Swan," he whispers in the dark. She bites her bottom lip, running her hands all the way up his arms to rest on his shoulders. When he kisses her this time, it has more to do with tasting than rushing, so she sighs into it, into him, leaning against him. The feel of his bare chest against hers is sweet torture with the hair covering it brushing against her breasts.

She pushes at the hem of the sweatpants sitting low on his hips, stepping back to take in the full picture just as he did. Emma discovers that she could stare at naked Killian all day if she didn't have anywhere else to be. Before, jeans and his work slacks had flattered every inch of the skin they covered. Whether he was wearing a shirt and vest and tie or just a t-shirt on a day off, his chest had always been wonderful beneath her fingers. His shoulders had always been broad and firm to her touch. His biceps had always piqued her interest from under short sleeves.

But this… She's surprised her glasses aren't fogging up. All this skin and all these muscles in plain sight are something else entirely. She knows she will never look at him fully clothed and not picture him just like this, and she wonders somewhere in the back of her mind if this is where his mind had been a few minutes before when he felt the need to catalogue every inch of her skin in his memory.

They move in tandem this time, lips connecting, tasting, and nipping. He easily lifts her and she squeaks in surprise, her legs wrapping around his hips and he has to stop his route to the bed to moan at the contact. Her glasses are gone, but she's not quite sure when they got knocked off.

"Probably should've thought that one out a little," Emma says. Her voice is breathier than she'd like because he's _so close_ to where she wants him, his cock nestled just below her center. She clenches her thighs to get him moving again, pleased at the strained response she earns.

"_Fuck_, Swan," he grumbles, moving swiftly again and crawling onto the bed. He settles over her as he leans her back and starts to move down her body, but she pulls him back up with a firm grasp of his hair.

"Not tonight," she says, needing to feel him inside her. "We will have plenty of time for foreplay another time, Jones."

He licks his lips while considering her words, then nods and twists to reach his nightstand drawer. Before she can get too much more impatient, he's tearing the packet open and rolling the condom on. He slides into her slowly, but she's restless. She tries to pull him closer with her legs still wrapped around him, but he resists and holds back.

"_Killian_," she whines, and wants to cringe at the needy tone in her voice but they've both been impressively patient this far in and it's wearing thin. He chuckles, leaning down to kiss her and sliding his tongue against hers when she opens her mouth to him. When he pulls away again, he's smiling at her, but the restraint is obvious in the lines around his eyes.

"Patience, Emma."

"I think we've shown more patience than either of us expected," she says with a level look, but then he slides home and she's gasping out his name and clutching at his shoulders. He rests his head between her breasts, hips already rocking just a bit, enough to amp them both up and she tugs him up to kiss him again. She begs him in that kiss to move, to finally move the way they both want him to, and he complies. He pulls out and pushes in a little faster, and she gasps again, breaking the kiss and relenting as his lips wander over her jaw and down her neck. He sets a pace that has her breathing harder, even more so when he nips over the top of one breast.

"Bloody hell, Emma, you feel amazing," he whispers hoarsely against the sensitive skin and it further ignites the heat that's been building since he opened the door. She lifts her hips to meet his thrusts, hands clutching at his biceps where they're braced on either side of her. She breathes out a request for more and he complies, moving one hand.

He trails a path from the center of her chest, down her abdomen, to right above where they're joined, his fingers finding and circling her clit as he speeds up. She fists the sheets with her free hand, feeling her climax rising and rising before finally breaking, her back arching off the bed, her head pushing back into his pillow and her eyes clenched shut.

She says his name on a sigh as she comes down and he bends back down to kiss her greedily, his movements getting jerkier as he reaches his own peak. She pushes her hips up as she drags her nails down his bicep and he groans, stutters to a stop as his orgasm takes over and he drops his head to her shoulder, rutting his hips into her until he comes back down.

His weight settles on top of her, pushing her further into his bed, and she feels comfortable under him. A hazy smile is plastered on her face and she runs her fingers along his scalp while she waits for his heart to stop racing. He rolls off her, pulling her to him after he's disposed of the condom and settling next to her.

They're side by side staring up at the ceiling, his arm under her head and she rolls her head to look at him. She's pretty sure the look on his face is a mirror of her own, the smile of satisfaction spreading warmth down to her toes.

"Worth the wait," she says.

"My sentiments exactly, love." He rolls to face her and nudges her so that he's spooned against her back. The sudden yawn that comes out cracks her jaw and he _tsks_ behind her. "You need sleep," he murmurs, kissing her shoulder as she pushes back further against his chest. She thinks she responds, but sleep claims her fast and she's out soon after.

* * *

She's tired. Way too tired to be waking up yet, and it takes her a couple seconds to remember that she's not in her own bed in her apartment. She's in Killian's bed, and the reason she's tired is because of her own impatience and hormones. She wants to pull the covers over her face in embarrassment from walking over here like a horny teenager and jumping her boyfriend, but she's twenty-eight and feels it's now within her rights to do whatever she wants.

Instead, she buries her face in his pillow. The scent of his shampoo lingering there makes her want him all over again, but she rolls over to find the other side of his bed empty. She lets out an exasperated noise, sitting up and looking around the room. She squints at the clock, a fruitless endeavor when she's not wearing her glasses, but she can tell it's still early by the scant amount of light coming through the window.

She goes to throw the covers off her before she realizes she has no clothes. They're strewn through Killian's apartment and she is not fully prepared to walk out of his bedroom in her birthday suit.

Killian solves this problem for her, though. Just as she's about to wrap the sheet around her body to go find him, he quietly opens the door.

"Ah, you're awake! Good morning," he says as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed next to her. He's holding her clothes, perfectly folded, with her glasses sitting on top. He kisses her cheek and rests one hand on her hip through the sheet. She tries to not let her lack of coffee get in the way of actually having a good morning, though, so she smiles at him and accepts her clothes.

"I made coffee," he says, as if reading her mind. "And I don't know if you eat breakfast, but I have plenty of stuff for whatever you wish." He smells like fresh shower, and when she slides her glasses on, she sees that his hair is still sticking up and damp. Even though he's back in his sweats and a t-shirt, she can feel her body responding to him being this close and she has to tamp down the urge to drag him into bed with her.

Emma starts to think he _might_ be able to read her mind because he smiles and looks away from her, blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

"I'll uh, leave you to get ready," he says and moves to stand. Before he can make it off the bed, she's hauling him forward by the front of his shirt, kissing him hungrily even though she hasn't brushed her teeth yet, and she just can't find any room to care because he's kissing her back with the same intensity, one hand tangled in her hair and the other resting on her bare back.

"You know," he says when they finally break apart, "I could get used to a greeting like that."

She laughs then, scooting closer to him to kiss his cheek. "Good morning," she says, voice a little huskier than she intends. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and does stand this time, moving a little away from the bed.

"I'm going to get out of here and let you dress, or else neither of our bosses will be happy with us today. Help yourself to the shower and anything else you need to get ready," he says, winking once before walking back out. She listens to the sounds of his movements in the kitchen echo through the apartment for just a moment more before she slips out of the bed and into her clothes.

When she walks into the bathroom, she sees her overnight bag propped on the back of the toilet and she can't help but smile. There's also a towel sitting on the counter top and she wonders just how long Killian was up before he came to wake her.

She eyes the shower longingly, but she didn't think ahead to bring everything she would need for her hair. Instead, she ties up her hair and only uses the shower long enough to scrub her body, basking in the scent of his shower gel. She belatedly realizes that she didn't pack perfume in that bag. She's thankful that she works with Belle instead of Ruby, because there's a chance that Belle won't notice the different scent clinging to her skin throughout the day.

She steps out and towels off, starts dressing in the items she thought to pack the night before. The handkerchief skirt she packed was the only one she knew wouldn't wrinkle. She slips on a camisole and a cream button up shirt over the red skirt, finishing as much of her routine as she can before repacking her essentials back in the bag. She hangs the towel on the empty hook on the back of the door and opens the door to go find Killian.

He's standing at the counter when she enters, fully dressed in his work clothes this time, hair somewhat tamed and she takes a moment to appreciate it without any kind of product holding it in place. He hands a mug over to her as soon as she's next to him before taking a moment to finger a piece of hair that's fallen free from the ponytail she hastily pulled up after her shower.

"While I'm fully aware this can't happen on work nights too often, Swan, I have to tell you how much I appreciated waking up with you in my arms," he says after she's taken a few sips of her coffee. It appears that he's already caught on to her need for caffeine before conversations.

"Yeah, exactly how long were you up before you came in to wake me?"

She watches a blush creep up on his cheeks and now she's _really_ interested in the answer.

"When I said 'wake up' I was using that loosely. I didn't sleep much last night," he admits. She stares at him, how alert he looks.

"How… Have you just been chugging coffee all morning?"

"Small price to pay for happiness, love," he says with a wink. "We have about ten minutes before we have to start walking." He turns to rinse his mug out and place it in the sink.

It's still too early, and that's the only reason Emma can come up with for why she turns her wrist to look at her watch while she's still holding her half-full coffee mug. It isn't until the liquid is soaking through the shirt and the camisole that she makes a noise, and when he turns, his eyes go wide with concern but he's also clearly trying to not laugh.

"Can I just go back to bed?" she mumbles as he grabs a towel and hands it to her.

"No, because then I'll just go with you and our lovebird bosses will not be pleased," he responds. She looks at him with brows furrowed.

"Robin and Regina?" she asks, not really wanting to believe.

"Oh, just wait until the website launch party. She'll be there with him, I'm sure. You're coming along, correct? Emma, you need a different shirt," he says before she can even answer. She looks down and sees the dark stain on the light fabric and sighs.

"I only brought one," she grumbles out. "And of course I'm going to the premier with you," she adds, like it was even something to be debated. He grins at her and then holds up a finger.

"I may have a solution."

Two minutes later, he finishes buttoning up one of his own shirts on her. It's the black one he wore on their first date and she smiles, even as she ties the shirttails together in the front, tucking the knot under the improvised hem. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows.

"Good call, Jones. But I can now count on at least two people recognizing this as not being my shirt." Even as she says it, she tugs him closer by his tie and kisses him. He hums briefly, taking in the sight of her in his shirt, and then kisses her once more before backing up.

"I'm quick on my feet," he replies with a cheeky grin. "We have to start walking, love." They're just barely through the door when she realizes she left her bag in the bathroom.

"Oh! My bag—"

"Leave it. I'll bring it by later," he says, nudging her out the door and locking it behind him.

As they walk the block to his corner, she walks with him, even though she passes the street to her office on their route. They cross the street hand in hand after the light changes, pausing for just one more moment to wish each other good days and send each other off with quick kisses.

It isn't until Emma has rounded the corner that she realizes how empty her hand feels without his in it. She thinks back to the towel she hung up next to his on the empty hook, their coffee cups sitting in the sink after her disaster. She wonders how it all feels so natural when it's the first time they've done any of these things. Shaking her head and speeding up a little, she makes it into an empty elevator, the doors swinging shut just as a group of men enter, clearly there for their morning workouts, and she smiles.

* * *

Belle holds her comments until their coffee break, after several hours working on getting the latest round of surveys typed up. This is the last round of input before the final changes are made to the site design, and Emma's already wondering how the dynamic of her life has changed since the project began and how it will change again when it's over. Even though she and Will still give each other hell, she's enjoying working with him on the design and she's now even happier that Belle found him. While Belle is trying to think of what to say about Emma's shirt, Emma beats her to the punch.

"It's Killian's. I stayed there last night. Dumped coffee on myself. Okay?"

"Okay," Belle says, amused smile twisting her lips up. "So that's all going fairly well, then?"

"Mmhmm," Emma hums in agreement. Belle doesn't push her for details. Ruby will, but Belle lets Emma tell her what she wants in her own time.

"He really is a sweetheart," Belle says. "Will seems to be happy that you've found each other."

"Really?" she asks, and while she's surprised, she's pleased to hear it.

"Of course," Belle responds. "I guess his last girlfriend really did a number on him."

"Yeah, speaking of, you know his ex married Gold?" The name stops Belle short, and Emma kicks herself for not at least warning Belle that this is where the conversation was heading.

"Will never told me. He knew I was seeing Gold for a while before I met him, but he's never asked. I think between me and Killian, he knows it's an off-limits topic."

"Sorry," Emma says, reaching out and squeezing Belle's hand while they queue in the coffee line. Belle smiles at her, tightening her grip before stepping up to order her coffee.

"It was a long time ago," she responds. Emma's happy to not hear the pain that used to come into her voice when she talked about the older man she dated when they were just out of college. "So, are you going to tell me anything about your sleepover?"

Emma almost drops her coffee when Belle speaks, and she's glad that at least the dark fabric will hide stains if this is how her day keeps going. She's smiling and can feel her cheeks heating, and Belle laughs at the expression on her face.

"Oh Emma, have you got it bad," her friend says laughing. She sobers, though, and Emma knows it's because of their previous conversation. "Have you told him about your past yet?" Emma just shakes her head. It's not something she discusses often if she can help it, but Belle is the one that got her out of her past situation, so she knows how hard it is for Emma to even really think about still. "Just don't wait too long. He does deserve to know."

They switch their conversation to the website launch premier, which is more an excuse to get people together and drink and pat themselves on the back than anything. Emma thinks about how, by the time of the premier, she and Killian will have been dating for a month and a half, and she knows Belle is right. She needs to tell Killian about what brought her here in the first place.

When she gets out of work that day, Killian is waiting outside for her, leaning against the building and an easy smile lighting up his eyes. They walk back to his place hand in hand, and she enjoys the look on his face while he removes the shirt he took so much care to put on her in the morning.

* * *

Emma manages, over the next two weeks, to tell Killian snippets of her past, but the whole thing won't come out no matter how hard she tries. He's patient with her about it, sensing that the story goes much deeper than she's letting on, and so he only holds her hand and listens whenever she brings it up. She brushes off the major relationships as 'bad experiences' and describes the rest as less than nothing.

The night of the premier arrives and she's still rushing to get ready when Killian knocks on the door. Ruby goes to greet him while Emma fusses with her hair and touches up her make up. She slips into the heels that she knows she'll regret, but it's a small price to pay for the look on Killian's face when she walks out of her bedroom.

"You look beautiful," Killian says as she stops in front of him. "Then again, you could wear a potato sack and I would still be the happiest and luckiest man alive."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Jones," Emma says, kissing his cheek and taking a moment to appreciate his suit for the evening. She thinks of the overnight bag that essentially lives over at his place already, and remembers to wish Ruby a good night, telling her not to wait up with a wink. They pass Victor on the stairs, so she knows Ruby won't miss her tonight.

The site launch is held in the bookstore attached to the publishing house. They sell used books while promoting their new ones, and the place has an air of comfort on a normal day. This night, it feels like understated elegance. The center of the room has tables set up throughout, candles adorning each little table. There are longer tables off to the side that have finger foods and drinks, and a screen at the front on a stage for the unveiling of the new site.

The transformation from boring publisher's website to incorporate a literary magazine was tricky, but Emma can't wait until everyone sees the hard work that was put into it. She's been tight-lipped over the final design around Killian, so she's anticipating his reaction more than anything.

For a small publishing house, there's a surprising amount of people milling around the dressed up book store. Killian introduces Emma to those he knows, and they find Belle and Will saving them spots at their table shortly after.

They're barely settled when she feels Killian's elbow gently nudge her and he nods to a dark corner by the stage. Sure enough, Robin and Regina are tucked away, and she watches in amazement as Robin presses a kiss to Regina's cheek.

"Told you," he whispers in her ear, and she shivers at the proximity of his breath on her ear. She looks out of the corner of her eye to see the slow smile spreading across his face.

"Don't," she hisses, but can feel a smile quirking her lips up.

Thankfully, their attention is diverted to the stage when Robin hops up and grabs the microphone. He thanks everyone for being there, takes a moment to specifically thank the design team for all their hard work, and thanks Emma by name for her input on the project. She blushes as Robin tells her to stand and the audience applauds. She tips her head to Robin in appreciation before dropping hastily back in her seat.

And then the screen is coming to life and fills with the new design. Robin goes through the new parameters, using a laptop nearby to click through different portions until he clicks over to the literary section that's been built in. Here, Robin thanks Belle for her help creating the new space and she's much more graceful when he asks her to stand, bright smile on her face.

"I can't believe you managed to hide all this from me," Killian says in Emma's ear as Robin continues to click through the magazine portion. Emma turns to look at him and the plain amazement in his eyes spikes her pulse. She licks her lips quickly and grins at him, training her eyes back to the stage to quell the urge to drag him out of there before the evening is over.

Several authors that are featured on the page are brought up to read from the selections on the screen after Robin leaves it, and Emma watches Killian's face light up during the readings. It's so clear that he's pleased with the work she's meticulously hidden from him.

The jovial party breaks up by eleven and Emma's more than happy to begin the trek back to Killian's home by the end of it. As fun of an evening as it's been, she's ready for comfy clothes and getting to sleep in the next day, as much as she ever sleeps in. She pulls a pair of fold up flats out of her purse before they start walking, and Killian watches with amusement as she holds him for balance, handing him each heel as she slips the flats on for the walk back. He keeps a hold on the heels for her, holding out his free hand to take hers. He pulls her close to kiss her, a sound of happiness humming out of him as he pulls back.

"That was a lovely surprise, Swan," he comments quietly as they start walking.

"Thought you might like that. Belle spent so long helping pick through submissions. The design will change each time, so we'll get to play with you guys twice a year to put out a new magazine," she explains, and the bright smile he gives her is the icing on the cake for her. As they pass their corners, she smiles. Even for a Friday night, the streets are fairly empty and they cross easily and finish the journey to his place in silence.

When he locks the door behind them, he eases the zipper down on her dress and promises to recite dirty poetry to her, and Emma once again thanks whatever fates led to her being late just once to bring her to this point in her life.

* * *

_A/N Edit: That moment, hours after you've posted a chapter, that you realize you left the part with your names in all caps in a reminder to put horizontal breaks into the doc. Ha ha ha, sorry guys. There's a week left of school and I'm obviously too far gone for anything useful._


	7. Chapter 6: Broken Routines

Title: Broken Routines

Rating: M for mentions

A/N: HUGE apologies to anyone who saw my placeholders in the last chapter. It took way longer than I'd like to admit for me to realize I left my screaming name in the middle of the sections. Ha ha ha, oops. It also looks like this is going to be one chapter shorter than I thought it would. I toned the angst/drama way down from my original notes. I'm still working on the last full chapter, and then there will be a companion/epilogue that is written and just needs edited. So here we go! The beginning of the end!

* * *

CHAPTER 6: Broken Routines

Three months after the premier, Killian is still as happy as he was that night. He and Emma have created their own routines, fitting into each other's lives more easily than he would've guessed. The summer passed quickly between finishing his work on the novella, due to come out in the next month, and spending his free time with the woman he knows he loves but hasn't told yet.

It's a rare moment to not have her at his side, but the latest survey project she was given is finishing up and she's been grumpier than usual. While she knows he would gladly deal with her, even at her surliest, he knows she needs the time to unwind and reset. She's spending the night with Ruby and Belle, a pile of movies, and what he counted as three bottles of wine. So instead, he meets with Will at the bar around the corner from Emma's apartment, only because it's their regular watering hole and he doesn't mind the long walk home.

He spends time catching up with Will and endures a lot of talk about the new apartment he and Belle have recently moved into. They each spend a fair amount of time grousing about work, about late nights and tired eyes. And they spend an equal amount of time talking about the women in their lives. He's happy to see Will as content as he is. He also knows that, despite the strange and often passive aggressive friendship between the two of them, Will is happy to see Killian with Emma.

At the end of the evening, Will announces that Belle is on her way, so they finish their drinks and settle their tabs before waiting outside. Killian is surprised to see Emma walking with Belle, but her head is bent and he can immediately sense that something's off. When she gets close enough, he sees that Emma looks a little like death warmed over, and he notices a tightness around Belle's eyes that he's never seen the soft-spoken woman have before. Belle hugs Emma before passing by Killian, touching his forearm and giving him the kind of smile that tells him he's not going to like what's coming next.

"What's wrong, love?" he asks quietly after their friends have walked away. She doesn't answer, just burrows against his chest and he wraps his arms around her.

"Do you trust me?" she asks, just as quiet.

"Aye, you know I do."

"Then just come stay with me tonight. I don't," she stops speaking as she pulls back a little, still not meeting his eyes, but focusing on a spot just beyond his shoulder. "I don't want to be alone, but I can't talk about it yet."

"Whatever you need, Emma. I'm yours," he answers easily. She nods, reaching down to thread his fingers with hers and turning back to walk to her apartment. He follows in silence, more than willing to give her the time she needs to process whatever is going on.

Ruby is on the couch watching TV when they walk in, still occasionally sipping from a glass of wine, but even she looks far subdued from what she normally does. She nods and says hello when they enter, and he can see two unopened bottles of wine on the coffee table. A glass still sits mostly full in front of where Emma normally sits, and he starts to worry more. He returns the greeting and wishes Ruby a goodnight as they head to Emma's room.

The only light on is the one next to her bed, casting a warm glow through the room. Emma once again moves into his arms and he doesn't know what to do other than hold her. The worst scenarios are going through his head: something has gone wrong with her parents, Regina has lost her marbles and fired her, she's pregnant—

The last thought causes his heart to leap into his throat and he feels a vague sense of panic take over. He loves her, but there is no way they are at that point.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" he inquires. He's surprised to hear her laugh, and it soothes some of the tension in his shoulders that he didn't know had gathered there.

"No. Nothing like that," she says with a ghost of a smile on her lips. She's looking at him now, searching his eyes for something, and he hopes that whatever she's looking for is there. She looks as if she's about to say something, but only shakes her head and presses her lips together. She nods her head in the direction of the bed and moves out of his arms to change into pajamas.

Killian strips down to his boxers, and can't help but chuckle when Emma looks at the shirt he's just folded and grabs it. She strips off the shirt she put on moments before and slides on his, obviously taking comfort in the over-washed fabric. He folds his jeans and sets them next to the bed before climbing in after her.

She's in his arms in seconds, facing him, face buried against his neck and her hands curled up against his chest. She's shivering, but he doubts it has little to do with the hint of autumn in the air during the short walk to the bar and back. He wraps her tight in his arms, pulling the covers snug, and worries his way into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning, Killian is relieved to see Emma beside him, but there are several clear signs that she didn't sleep as easily as he did. First, it's late. Much later than Emma allows herself to sleep on a weekend, much preferring to rise early and start her routines so she can have as much weekend as possible.

She's on her back, which he can only think of one other time she slept this way and it was right before she came down with a nasty summer cold. She has also somehow managed to wedge her hand under Killian's head, and he wonders how he slept through that since Emma's hand in his hair is one of his favorite things. Looking closely in the light that seeps into the room, he can see the dark circles still under her eyes, the salt crusted around the corners, which unsettles him even more. In all their months together, he has never once seen Emma Swan cry.

He slips carefully from the bed, only pausing to throw on his jeans in case Ruby is up and about, and makes his way to go start coffee. He only glances at the envelope on the counter, but the glance has him stopping and doubling back to check if he saw correctly. He notices words like 'divorce' and Emma's name, and a man named 'Walsh' and he can actually feel the blood draining from his face.

After a few deep breaths, when he knows that his blood is all pumping properly through his body again, he walks away from the counter and walks on auto-pilot to the coffee maker.

"Is Emma still asleep?" Ruby asks quietly behind him. He's still filling the pot, so he only nods. He hears Ruby make a noise behind him and he glances over to where she's shuffling the papers, trying to shove them back in the manila envelope.

"I've already seen, and no, she hasn't told me yet," Killian says. When Ruby's eyes meet his, he feels like he's being weighed and measured, like he's about to take the most important exam in all his life and it's one question, and it isn't multiple choice. "I'll let her tell me when she's ready," he states and turns back to wait for the coffee to finish brewing.

He's not expecting the hug, for Ruby's arms to squeeze all the way around him, trapping his arms by his sides, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

"You're good people, Killian Jones," she says, and just like that her grasp is gone and she's moving back to her bedroom. He glances to see that the envelope has been stashed away somewhere, and he pours his coffee even though the pit in his stomach could swallow the whole measly city.

Killian enters the bedroom just as quietly as he left it after he's had his cup of coffee. He wants a shower, but he crawls back into the bed with Emma instead, tangling his fingers with hers and resting both their hands on her stomach.

He must doze back off because he wakes again to Emma's lips pressed against his and as soon as he's aware of it, he kisses her back. Their clothing is stripped and soon she's sliding on top of him, gripping his hands like a lifeline and rocking against him as if it's her one salvation. He can feel the panic and sadness with each move of her hips above him and he just holds on, hopes she can feel the reassurance radiating from him, hopes she feels that he's an anchor she can trust, that he'll be with her no matter what this all means.

When they're both sated, she collapses onto his chest and he can feel the quiet sobs wracking through her body a few heartbeats later. He wraps his arms around her, running his hand soothingly over the small of her back and whispering anything he thinks may bring her back to him.

* * *

It's early in the evening when she starts a conversation that isn't prompted by something he's said.

"I'm sorry," she says, voice gravelly from hours of near silence.

"No apologies necessary, love," he returns. Ruby is out with Victor, so they lounge on the couch not even paying attention to whatever movie is playing on the television. She had relented his shirt at some point, and he's starting to wonder why he doesn't just keep a spare set of clothes here since she keeps a set of work clothes at his place in case of an unplanned stay. They try to split time equally between their homes, so he chalks it up to his general laziness and her penchant for being prepared as to why she keeps clothes at his place and he doesn't at hers.

He immediately feels a small pang of guilt that he's worrying about such trivial things when Emma is still clearly distraught.

Emma shifts her head on the pillow in his lap and looks up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. Her lips pull down instead of the small smile she usually has when her face is relaxed. Without even thinking about it, his hand moves across her forehead and over her hair, brushing through the tangle of gold as gently as he can.

It hits him, then, that Emma has not followed a single routine all day. He's lost in thinking about all she normally accomplishes on Saturdays and which she may allow him to help her with that he almost doesn't hear the soft spoken words.

"I was married," she almost whispers. Seeing the papers was one thing, but hearing it from her broken voice feels like a sucker punch to Killian's stomach. He looks down at her, but she's turned her head. His hand freezes in her hair and he carefully tugs the strands between his fingers to make her look at him. Her gaze stays in the direction of the television, so he rests his hand where it is while either waiting for her to continue or he can think of what to say next. When the silence borders on something close to uncomfortable, Killian settles on what question to ask first.

"How long?"

"Less than a year," she responds without hesitation. He senses that she'll answer whatever he asks, but it'll be something akin to pulling teeth, with no numbing agent.

"When?"

"Two years ago," comes the next clipped response. As gently as possible, he takes a steadying breath. He can do the math. She had only been working at the survey center for four months when he introduced himself in April. She once told him she got the job after she had to relocate quickly, applied at Belle's insistence, and started working almost as soon as she was settled back into the apartment she and Ruby shared before she moved away from the city for a time.

"You moved here to get away from him." It's not a question, but she still nods in response. He's thinking of his next question when she sits up, suddenly, pushing her hair out of her face and scrubbing at the cheek that was turned away from him.

"It's good this happened early in," she says. He opens his mouth to question her, but she cuts him off again. "It's not serious enough that you can go if you want. Better that it happened now instead of a couple months from now or something."

Killian can almost swear that his heart stutters to a stop at her words.

"Apologies, Swan, but I'm not following," he says, eyes still trained on her and her looking anywhere but at him.

"I mean, this kind of damage. This is easier to walk away from while it's still early," she says while wringing her hands together. She practically springs off the couch, glancing only once at him and then looking beyond him again. "I can come get my bag later, or have Ruby get it…" She trails off when he stands and his heart cracks a little because the look on her face says that she's sure he's leaving.

He's overtly pleased at the gasp from her when instead he pulls her forward roughly and crashes his mouth against hers. She's clinging to his shirt when he pulls back and clearly looks a little lost, like there's some part of the conversation she missed.

"Is that what you think I'm going to do, Emma? You thing I'm going to leave you?"

Her eyes focus on his collarbone when he speaks and he makes a noise at the back of his throat before using the fingers of one hand to gently tilt her head. When her eyes finally meet his, he sees it. And he thinks vehemently how much of an idiot he is for not seeing it sooner.

"He wasn't the first to hurt you." Once again, he's not questioning her about it. He's stating it so she can hear that he understands. Still, she shakes her head. "Emma, my love," he starts and makes sure to emphasize it this time, "I will go only if you tell me that is what you wish of me. Otherwise, I've no intentions of walking out of here because of your past. I saw the papers on the counter this morning and could've walked out at any point."

She's quiet for a long time after he finishes speaking, tired eyes staring into his own and searching, and he finds he's holding his breath. Finally, she sags against him again, all of the tension deflating out of her at once and he holds her tighter, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"Will it help if I give you my shirt again?" he asks, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. He's relieved to hear the snort of laughter she finally lets out. She leans back to look at him and frames his cheeks with her hands. This time, she meets his gaze on her own. A small smile lifts the corners of her lips, just the barest hint, and Killian feels his heart tumble further for the woman in his arms.

"Killian, I—" She stops again. It's the second time she's said those words in that combination to him with months between, but Ruby doesn't burst in the door this time. Instead, he sees the fear flash through her eyes again and she closes her mouth without finishing.

"I know, Swan," he responds. Because he's fairly certain he can guess what she wants to say, only because he wants to say it as well. "You were trying to say goodbye this morning, just in case, weren't you?"

She nods. "Everyone else leaves. I was afraid you would, too."

"It takes a lot to scare me off. In fact, I was just realizing I should probably keep an extra set of clothes here. It's not like I can just borrow your shirts like you do at my place."

"I mean, you could," Emma says. Her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles, and he's relieved to see the expression back in place. As if just stepping into back into her body, she crinkles her nose and rubs at her eyes. "I feel like shit."

"Why don't you go take a hot shower and see if that helps? Then, you can tell me as much as you'd like and I will listen. I can make something for dinner, if you're hungry."

"Grilled cheese?" she asks hopefully.

"As you wish," he replies. He gently anchors a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her forward to kiss her forehead. Those three words are waiting for him to speak them, but he hears her sigh and her fingers reach up to brush along his collarbones. She leans up to kiss him one more time before she heads to the bathroom. He waits until he hears the shower running before turning to the kitchen to start preparing their food.

* * *

It's not until after they've eaten and he's handed her a glass of wine that she takes a deep breath and tells him about Neal. Her high school boyfriend. They started college together, and dated almost until graduation when she found him in his dorm room with another girl that he had always claimed was his study buddy since they were in the same major.

She drinks half the glass of wine when she tells him about Graham, the next man she dated, who was nice enough but left her because he claimed she wasn't over Neal enough for him to ever have a chance. She explains about the string of guys who only wanted one thing, but when they couldn't get in her pants, they disappeared. She drains the glass before she starts speaking again.

"And then there was Walsh," she starts. Gone is the slightly broken version of Emma he's been holding for almost twenty-four hours. Instead, there's a tinge of hatred and anger in her voice. She tells him all about his patient courtship of her, how he convinced her to move out of the apartment with Ruby to a city three hours away, how he convinced her she couldn't go visit them once a month because he was too lonely when she was gone.

She begins describing a level of possessiveness that has him clenching his fists, and then she starts telling him about their quickie wedding at a courthouse, how no one knew about it at the time and it took her weeks to tell Belle or Ruby, or even her parents. Shortly after they were married, the emotional and verbal abuse began in earnest and she lost contact with her friends and family for months. Finally, it was Belle driving to visit her unannounced, when Walsh was at work, who gently guided Emma to come to her own conclusions about her relationship because she knew it was the only way Emma would open her eyes to it.

And then Emma tells Killian that Belle knew all too well what that kind of relationship was like because she'd had the same kind with Gold, the same Gold that would court Milah out from under him after Belle finally put a restraining order out on him.

"So in a way, she saved my life and happiness while destroying yours," Emma finishes. The bottle of wine is gone between the two of them and he's sunk into the couch trying to absorb everything she's just told him. "Still with me?"

"I told you, you can't scare me off that easily, love," he says with a wink and she laughs. "And Belle didn't destroy my life. Quite the opposite, actually." He taps a finger on the tip of her nose when she starts to blush and she swats his hand away.

"_Anyway_, the papers for the finalization on the divorce came yesterday. That's what you saw. I don't know what my father said to him to finally convince him to sign the damn things without dragging us into court, but whatever it is worked."

"If David showed up on my doorstep and demanded I give him every last cent to my name and the clothes on my back, I would do so without hesitation. Your father was bloody terrifying when he gave me the 'what-are-your-intentions' talk when we went to visit them," Killian explains as he pulls her down to lay against him.

"He actually did that to you?" Emma asks. The surprise in her voice is evident.

"Swear on my honor. When you and your mother went to set the table, he waited until you were out of earshot and then sprung on his daughter's poor, unsuspecting boyfriend." Killian even manages to pout to show how victimized he was. Instead of a laugh like he was expecting, Emma is staring at him with open wonder.

"To my knowledge, you're the first guy he's ever done that with," she tell him.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse, Swan." She does laugh this time, and kisses him reassuringly.

"I would take that as a very good sign, Killian," she says, snuggling down into his embrace. He feels her go lax shortly after, her breathing strong and even. He knows his back will protest in the morning, but he only grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it across both of them.

He's still awake when Ruby gets home that evening, her actions quiet and cautious, and she peeks her head around the couch to check on them. Killian lifts a hand in silent greeting. In typical Ruby fashion, she just grins, forms her hand into the shape of a heart at the sight of the two of them, and tiptoes back out of the living room to go to bed. When the apartment is completely silent again, he whispers his love to Emma against the hand he brings up to his lips and then finally falls asleep.


	8. Chapter 7: Tired of the Same Routines

Title: Tired of the Same Routines

Rated: T for language

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: In which I wrap some pretty bows around the end of this, because I'm obviously a sucker for happy endings. This ends the main body of the story. There is a (very shamelessly smutty) companion piece already written for this, and there's always a chance for more side pieces if it's requested. For now though, a huge thanks to everyone who has followed along this journey with these two, and with me. Your follows and favorites and comments and general loveliness during this whole process has meant the world to me.

* * *

CHAPTER 7: Tired of the Same Routines

Emma wakes in the morning to Killian shifting restlessly in his sleep. They're still on the couch, if only just barely. Throughout the night, he had shifted her to rest against the back of the couch while he moved to the outside edge. She's just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he's on the floor. Eyes open wide, now, she peers over the edge of the couch to see Killian wincing on the floor.

"Are you okay?"

"Just fine, love," he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She's stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. "Good morning to you too, couch hog."

"Hey! We could've moved at any time. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because I love you," he responds, and seems to notice which words came out instead of the response he meant to say. His eyes, wide and brighter blue than she's ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

"I love you, too. But that's a little dramatic of a reason for why you're now on the floor."

"I'd go to the ends of the earth for you, love. This time, it just happens to be your remarkably uncomfortable floor." She can't help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair.

"Thanks again for yesterday. I was a bit of a mess," she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand as if to dismiss the notion of her being anything other than composed. She wants to laugh at his ability to handle everything that's been thrown at him over the last couple months except for her one slip at punctuality.

"I understand. Old ghosts and habits, and all that. Speaking of which, I think you're behind on your weekend routines," he says. He raises an eyebrow and glances around the untidied living room.

"I think they can wait. What should we do today?" she asks, sitting up on the couch and stretching. She watches the way his eyes darken as her shirt rides up, exposing her bare waist.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he responds. A wayward hand creeps along her inner thigh and her chuckle is cut off when his fingers brush her center through her pajama pants. They finally make it back to her bedroom, where she finally gets to learn the difference between what it feels like to be with someone who says he loves her, and one that actually means it.

* * *

In the weeks that follow the finalization of Emma's official divorce, her routines almost entirely disappear. She still gets up at the same time in the morning, but if the dishes in the sink aren't washed and put away before she goes to bed at night, she doesn't lose sleep over it. She doesn't feel the need to start her laundry at exactly noon on Saturdays. She does it whenever she feels like it. She walks back to Killian's after work some days and spends the night. One day, she snags a pair of jeans he doesn't wear often, along with a couple other pieces of clothing, and takes them back to her place when she goes.

Her friends throw her a Happy Divorce party at the bar one night, with a cake and everything. Her parents make the drive to come celebrate with them. Emma takes a special interest in watching David and Killian interact, and realizes that she never watched how her father treated the other men she brought around, mostly because she can't recall David interacting with any of them. Maybe that should've been a tip-off.

On Monday morning when she gets to work, Belle hands over an envelope of pictures she printed from the party.

"Thought you might want to hang some updated ones," she explains. She pulls out the photos, and there's one of her surrounded by Belle and Ruby. There's another of her with her parents, one where she doesn't look like she's trying to climb out of her own skin. There are others, candid, of the friends that surrounded her that evening. And one is of her and Killian.

It isn't a posed photo, although she's sure there's one of those in the pack as well. They're side by side, looking like they're sharing a private joke. And if he hadn't told her he loved her already (and repeats it often) then she would know from looking at them in this picture.

She notices the same picture on Killian's desk when she takes him lunch later in the week. When he sees her looking at it, he just shrugs and smiles, the same smile on his face in the picture and he nudges the door closed to kiss her senseless, which she is more than okay with.

When they finally break apart, she leans her head against the door she's already propped against. She brushes her hand over his cheek and runs her fingers through the hair that curls just behind his ear and smiles.

She thinks about a time, months ago, standing in the doorway of the guy she barely knew when she was still on the fence about whether or not to let him in. When all they had shared at that point was a couple drinks at a bar and a crossing path on their commutes to work.

"What's on your mind, love?" he asks.

"You waited for me," she answers. And in every sense she can mean it, she does. "You waited the day I was late. You waited for me to agree to our first date instead of pushing me. You even held back when you could've kissed me after it. And you continued to wait for me every step of the way."

"Aye, and I would've waited longer at each step along the way, even if it took us years to get to this moment. You're worth waiting for, Emma."

She doesn't have a response. Can't even think of what to say after that, so she just pulls him closer to kiss him again. She's found, more often than not, that it's a response he will gladly accept.

* * *

It's three months later that Killian locks himself out of his apartment and he and Emma huddle on the front stoop together in the snow waiting for his landlord to come unlock the door for him. He opens his coat and pulls her closer, jumping when her cold nose touches his collarbone and she chuckles as she repeats the action until her nose is warm and he's even warmer, and they thank Marco profusely when he comes with the spare set of keys.

The next day, when Emma comes back from getting coffee, there's an envelope propped in front of her computer. When she opens it, a weight settles in the envelope as she pulls out the folded note. Killian's neat handwriting stretches across the paper.

_"__My love,_

_understand me,_

_I love all of you, _

_from eyes to feet, to toenails,_

_inside,_

_all the brightness, which you kept._

_It is I, my love,_

_who knocks at your door."_

_So next time I lock myself out, please unlock it for me. (Previous lines by Pablo Neruda. I'll make you like poetry yet, Swan.)_

She peers into the envelope to see the key resting in the bottom and thinks he may be onto something with poetry if it always sounds like that.

Emma makes sure to beat Killian to the door when they walk back to his place after work so she can try out her new key, and she only smiles wider when the lock clicks open. She makes a big show of swinging the door open, gesturing him inside with a sweep of her arm.

* * *

It's just past Emma and Killian's one year anniversary when she and Ruby sit down at the kitchen table with plastic cups and a bottle of wine. Everything else in the apartment is boxed up and most of the furniture is already moved to whichever location it's going to.

Ruby pours a generous amount into each clear plastic cup and holds one out to Emma.

"Seriously, Ruby? You couldn't just buy the cheap plastic ones?"

"We are classier than red Solo cups," she responds. She holds out the cup for a toast, and Emma waits. This is, after all, Ruby's favorite part of drinking anything. She mulls over her seemingly endless supply of toasts in her mind before a smile spreads slowly and she looks at Emma. "May all our ups and downs be between the sheets," she finally says, clicking the cup against Emma's and taking a drink.

"Too bad you don't stick exclusively to between sheets. I liked that couch, you know," Emma responds before sipping from her own cup.

"Hey. We didn't have sex on that couch until you guys said you didn't want it. Not my fault you said you would be at Killian's- sorry, _your_ apartment all night and came back to grab something."

"New topic. The memory is making the wine taste bad," Emma says quickly.

It's bittersweet for both of them to say goodbye to the apartment. While Emma was out of it for a few years, the apartment is the only place she considered home after leaving the nest until her decision to move into Killian's apartment. The discussion about moving in together took all of five seconds. It was the decision of which place to move into that lasted a little longer. Killian swayed her, although she will admit it didn't take much, by saying the magic words of 'shorter walk' and she remembered how awful every snowy morning and afternoon were during what seemed like a particularly ruthless winter.

They finish the bottle of wine while reminiscing, and Ruby tells her for the third time how close her new place will be to the hospital and Granny's Diner, so she'll see her all the time.

"It'll be a little weird not having you down the hall again," Ruby admits.

"You'll see me every Friday. And you're still in easy walking distance," Emma reminds her. They've all promised Elsa they'll keep visiting, even though none of them will be close to their customary bar anymore. Some traditions and routines just can't be let go.

They both still cry when the last box is taken down to their moving vehicles and the last surface is wiped clean.

* * *

Emma arrives home a little late one night to Killian already making dinner. The routines they do still stick to all include household chores and the way they divvy them up, and she's perfectly fine with that kind of situation. He glances over his shoulder when she walks in and smiles.

"Get stuck late again?"

"Not quite. That smells amazing," she says as she comes to stand behind him. "I kind of walked half way back to the apartment before I realized I was going the wrong way."

"Kind of? I don't think that's something you can _kind of_ do, love," he says, and still manages to keep stirring whatever it is he's making even when she goes to swat his arm.

"Okay, so I did. You said it yourself. Old habits, right?" She hops up on the counter to watch him cook. He hums his agreement while keeping watch over his cooking. "So, are our adventures everything you thought they would be, Hot Guy?"

"Well, Blonde Goddess. I do believe the story is only in the middle. We'll just have to see where the pages take us from here."

"You are such a fucking romance novelist," she says. He makes sure to remove the sauce he's been carefully preparing the whole time before he moves in to attack. And even though she's squirming to get away from the nimble pressures of his fingers on her ticklish spots, she sends up another thank you to faulty alarm clocks and routines.

* * *

_(A/N: poem snippet comes from Pablo Neruda's "The Question" as found in _The Captain's Verses_.)_


	9. Epilogue: Routine Poetics

Rating: Very M.

A/N: Long story short, I am a poetry major about to get my MFA. Fic has been my sanity over the last month. This was started before I even finished the first chapter of this story, and I am way too excited to share it. The poems used are "The Mist of Pornography" by Leonard Cohen (not all of the poem is used in this) and "Night on the Island" by Pablo Neruda. Yes, another Neruda. This is the end (ish) I'm probably lying about that. After the semester, I can probably be persuaded to return to them. If you have suggestions, feel free to share and I will take everything you suggest into consideration. Again, thank you to all of you readers out there who, you know, read. Every comment, follow, favorite has made my life so bright and I'm just happy to know there are people out there enjoying it. Thank you. I would bake you all cookies if I could. Without further ado, enjoy the shameless poetry smut!

* * *

EPILOGUE: Routine Poetics

Emma's in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner when Killian comes in. He stands directly behind her with his hands on her hips and his lips in her hair.

"You could just leave those until later," he says, full of implication. He would argue about her doing the dishes at all, but she's claimed since the beginning that if he makes food, she cleans up. He's learned not to try to talk her out of it. But it doesn't stop him from trying to distract her in the best ways possible.

She's wearing his favorite skirt, the soft gray jersey fabric clinging to her hips before flaring and draping down. It hides much of her legs, but her ass looks fantastic in it. On top, she has a light yellow sweater that's tickling at his memories, the lines of a poem he once memorized during his university years making their way back to mind.

Steady movements continue as she washes and rinses each dish, stacking them in the drying rack before starting to scrub out the sink. He's struggling to remember lines, _yellow sweater_, and with a smirk he glides his hands down, over her ass, to palm the backs of her thighs.

"These are anything but boyish haunches," he wonders aloud. Emma gasps at the shift from innocent to dirty in no time at all.

"What?"

He hums into her hair, nosing some of it aside to find her neck with his lips. "From a poem. Your yellow sweater brought it back to me. 'The Mist of Pornography'," he responds, once again moving his hands to the fronts of her thighs and sliding them up to rest on the spot below her hipbones.

"Why am I not surprised that you know something with 'pornography' in the title?"

"Ah, but Swan, it's about much more than that. Close your eyes. Listen," he says, and moves a hand only long enough to brush the hair off her neck and lean closer to her ear. He returns his hand to her hip as he starts reciting.

_When you rose out of the mist / of pornography_—He runs a single finger along her spine until it rests between her shoulders—_with your talk of marriage / and orgies / I was a mere boy / of fifty-seven / trying to make a fast buck / in the slow lane / It was ten years too late / but I finally got / the most beautiful girl / on the religious left / to go with her lips / to the sunless place_—and here he made sure to push his hips against her backside to emphasize. As he continues reciting, he crowds her against the counter, making sure the edge is pressing her right where he wants it to.

_This was my life / in Los Angeles / when you slowly / removed your yellow sweater—_as he speaks, he slowly draws her sweater over her head and she lifts her arms—_and I slobbered over / your boyish haunches—_he runs his hand over the path that started this all and pushes the skirt off her hips to rub over the backs of her now bare thighs—a_nd I tried to be / a husband / to your dark and motherly / intentions._

_I thank you / for the ponderous songs / I brought to completion / instead of fucking you / more often—_he punctuates by rolling his hips against her. She gasps and grips the edge of the sink for stability and he grins as he keeps going.

_I'm free at last / to trick you into posing / for my Polaroid / while you inflame / my hearing aid / with your vigorous obscenities_—she almost snorts at that, knowing he's more likely to speak 'vigorous obscenities' and this moment is only proving her point.

_Your panic cannot hurry me here / and my panic and falling / shoulders / our shameless lives / are the grains / scattered for an offering / before the staggering heights / of our love—_His hands glide over her stomach and up to cup her breasts through her bra. She can feel where he's pressing against her ass, hard and wanting. Her hips are pinned against the sink and with each line, he thrusts against her, slowly lighting the fuse of what promises to be a spectacular orgasm if he keeps going.

_And the other side of your anxiety / is a hammock of sweat / and moaning—_It's getting harder for her to pay attention to the poem, especially when he pulls the cups of her bra down, palms meeting her already hardened nipples as he massages and squeezes with the exact pressure he knows she loves—_and time comes down / like the smallest pet of God / to lick our fingers—_he licks her shoulder instead—_as we sleep / in the tangle / of straps and bracelets._

She tries to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth, the way his accent curls each word as he speaks it against her skin—_and Oh the sweetness of first nights / and twenty-third nights / and nights / after death and bitterness—_she reaches one arm back to wrap around his neck and firmly grasp his hair—_and the impeccable order / of the objects on the table—_He's rocking her into the counter at just the right speed and she can feel herself getting closer to the edge—_the weightless irrelevance / of all our old intentions / as we undo / as we undo / every difference._

With the last word of the poem out of his mouth, she gasps and tugs hard at his hair, coming undone as she leans against his chest.

"Oh god,_ Killian_," she moans. He's still rocking them against the counter as she rides out her orgasm. By far, she thinks, this is the most interesting way he's ever brought her to completion.

"Have I made you a fan of poetry yet, Swan?" He moves his hands back down to her hips, his fingers sliding just under the waist of her panties. She feels loose and light as she turns in his arms and pulls him against her.

"A couple more poems like that and I can definitely be convinced," she says. "But for now I think I'm more interested in spending time with this one. What was that about lips and sunless places?"

His mind reels because she drops to her knees between him and the cabinets. He grips the counter for stability when she drags her teeth over the zipper of his slacks.

"Think you can recite another one?" She unfastens his pants, sliding the material down and taking his boxer briefs with it. She wraps one hand around the base of his cock, lightly gripping his hip with the other.

"Hmm?" He's concentrating really hard on not rocking his hips forward into her skilled hands, incredibly aware of the counter just behind her head. The absolute last thing he wants to do is accidentally give his girlfriend a concussion.

"Another poem, Killian. You have another one up in that head of yours?" She leans in and licks the tip of his erection, grinning up at him.

His mind scrambles for any other poems he memorized.

"You're making it incredibly difficult to concentrate, love," he admits, another moan pulling from him as she wraps her lips around the head and sucks lightly. She pulls back again and looks up at him, her smile shining in her eyes.

"You once promised to read me dirty poetry. You've given me one. Surely you have another up there," she says before leaning forward to kiss the spot below his hipbone. The poem that finally makes its way to his mind is not dirty, but he knows she'll appreciate it. He clears his throat, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the words in his head instead of the love at his feet.

_All night I have slept with you / next to the sea, on the island. _He begins, and she runs her hands along his thighs. _Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep, / between fire and water. _She grips his cock again and begins stroking it gently, placing kisses along his hip again as he continues.

_Perhaps very late / our dreams joined / at the top or at the bottom, / up above like_—

"Fuck, _Swan,_" he moans, her mouth going from the innocence of kisses to wrapping her lips around him once more and swirling her tongue around the tip.

"Keep going," she pants out when she breaks away, dipping her head right back in when he starts reciting once more.

_Perhaps your dream / drifted from mine / and through the dark sea / was seeking me / as before, / when you did not yet exist, / when without sighting you / I sailed by your side, / and your eyes sought / what now—/ bread, wine, love, and anger—/ I heap upon you / because you are the cup / that was waiting for the gifts of my life._

The hand that isn't gripping the base of his cock trails up his thigh once more, pausing on his hip for a moment before brushing under the shirt that he's still wearing and she runs her nails down his chest.

_I have slept with you / all night long while / the dark earth spins / with the living and the dead, / and on waking suddenly / in the midst of the shadow / my arm encircled your waist. / Neither night nor sleep / could separate us._

She begins bobbing her head while her hand strokes the rest of his length, and it's a struggle to remember the last stanza for a moment. He drops his head, opens his eyes again to watch her move and it's too much. His movements against her during the first poem had already aroused him, and her attentions on him now are pushing him closer to the edge.

Emma moans around his length and his knuckles go white where he's still gripping the counter. He can feel his release coming and she feels it too, speeds up and doesn't prolong the torture. When it hits him, he has to brace his feet a little more so he doesn't collapse. He's breathing hard when she gracefully stands back up into the cage of his arms. She's grinning, the cat that got the cream, as she winds her arms around his neck.

"Is that the end?" she asks, fingers threading through his hair. He shakes his head and swallows, wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

_I have slept with you / and on waking, your mouth, / come from your dream, / gave me the taste of earth, / of sea water, of seaweed, / of the depths of your life, / and I received your kiss / moistened by dawn / as if it came to me / from the sea that surrounds us._

He kisses her after saying the last verse, tasting his release still lingering on her tongue, and she hums into the kiss.

"Not bad," she says when she breaks the kiss. "You may have just swayed my opinion. I'm now pro-poetry." She's smiling when she meets his eyes, and he chuckles. He places one more kiss on her forehead before bending to hastily pull his underwear back up, stepping out of the pants and leaving them on the floor.

"I'll try a lofty and pretentious one next time," he promises, remembering their previous discussions about poetry now that she's brought them up.

"Only if you're fucking me into the mattress when you do it," she says off-handedly. He huffs out a laugh and rests his forehead against hers.

"You'll be the death of me, love." He hugs her tight to him as he says it and he can feel the laugh vibrate through her.

"But you love me anyways," she responds, dancing her fingers across his shoulders.

"Aye, until the end of time." He kisses her again, and she whispers her love for him across his lips.

And when they wind up in bed a short time later, he recites whatever he can think of—limericks, haiku, even a poem by Shel Silverstein—as he fulfills her request.


End file.
